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XTbe Bnglisb Com^Oie Ibumalne 
Second Series 



ENGLISH HUMORISTS 

OF THE 

EIGHTEENTH CENTURY 



SIR RICHARD STEELE 
JOSEPH ADDISON 



LAURENCE STERNE 
OLIVER GOLDSMITH 



ILLUSTRATED AFTER DRAWINGS BY 

WILLIAM HOGARTH • 

SHOWING THE DRESS, MANNERS AND CUSTOMS 
OF THAT PERIOD 




NEW YORK 

Zlbe Century do 

1906 



UBRARY of CONGRESS 
Two Cocies Received 

APR 3 1906 

^-, Cooynght Entry 
CLA6S (X he. NO, 






Copyright, 1906, by 
The Century Co. 

Published April, igo6. 



The De Vinne Press 



PUBLISHER'S NOTE. 

In this, the initial volume of the second series of the English 
Comedie Humaine, the deHghtful sketches and essays of Eigh- 
teenth Century Life by the early English humorists and satirists, 
will be enjoyed as thoroughly by the modern reader as by the 
society whose shortcomings they aimed to correct ; and a sort of 
visualizing emphasis is given to this unique collection of papers by 
the remarkable Hogarth drawings. 

The papers from The Tatler, and its successor, The Spectator, 
include some of the best work of both Addison and Steele. In 
touching on the various social follies of the day with his own 
exquisitely gentle ridicule, Addison is at his humorous best ; while 
Steele is most felicitous perhaps when he aims at the fashionable 
absurdities of women which he does in forceful yet sympathetic 
style. 

The Tatler was started in 1709 and in 171 1 was merged into 
The Spectator which in turn survived but a year and a half — a 
brief life indeed in which to have attained undying fame. 

The chief work of Laurence Sterne, the celebrated English 
novehst and humorist, is "The Life and Opinions of Tristram 
Shandy, Gentleman," containing nine volumes, and written during 
the period, 1760 to 1767. In this present volume appear books 
VI and VII, the first containing the beautiful story of Le Fever, 
perhaps the most genuinely touching narrative ever penned by 
the sentimental Sterne ; and the second containing the vivacious 
account of the author's saunterings in France written in his most 
vivacious and fanciful strain. 

"The Citizen of the World; or Letters of a Chinese Philosopher" 
which rounds out this volume, is Oliver Goldsmith's most brilliant 
contribution to humorous hterature. This collection of letters 
first appeared in an English newspaper and was issued in book 
fomvin 1762. On the surface is gay and sparkling facetiousness, 
which does not blind one however to the shrewd observation and 
keen delineation of national character. Beau Tibbs, a prominent 
character in this work, "is the best comic sketch," says Hazlitt, 
"since the time of Addison ; unrivalled in his fancy, his vanity and 
his .poverty," y 



CONTENTS. 



Steele ^^^« 

From Thackeray's English Humorists i 

The Tatler 

No. 25 Duelling 43 

35 Snuff 45 

60 Tom Wildair 47 

77 Fashionable affectations 49 

79 Marriage of Jenny Distaff 52 

86 Scene of country etiquette 56 

88 A dancing-master practising by book 59 

89 Mr. Bickerstaff on himself 33 

95 A visit to a friend 39 

103 Applications for permission to use canes, etc 61 

104 Mrs. Tranquillus 66 

1 1 6 The petticoat 70 

1 24 On the lottery 73 

126 The prude and the coquette 76 

131 Trial of the wine-brewers 80 

132 Our club 84 

136 Tom Varnish 87 

148 Kickshaws 89 

15 1 Beauty unadorned 93 

155 The political upholsterer * . . . . 96 

158 Tom Folio 99 

160 A visit and letter from the upholsterer 102 

165 The critic 104 

181 Memories of his childhood 35 

192 Characters in a stage-coach 108 

vii 



CONTENTS. 

PAGB 

No. 202 Ambition iii 

208 Flattery as an art 114 

224 On advertisements 117 

249 Adventures of a shilling 120 

254 Frozen words 124 

263 Late hours 127 

264 On long-w-inded people 130 

266 On the art of growing old 133 

Addison 

From Thackeray's English Humorists /. 137 

The Spectator 

No. 7 Popular superstitions 149 

9 Clubs 152 

10 The uses of the Spectator 155 

12 Effect of the supernatural on the imagination 158 

15 Dress and show 162 

18 Itahan opera 165 

21 Choice of a profession 168 

25 Letter from a valetudinarian 171 

26 Reflections in Westminster Abbey 174 

28 Office for the regulation of signs 177 

34 The club of spectators 180 

35 False wit and humour 183 

37 A lady's library 186 

45 French fashions 190 

49 The coffee-house 193 

69 The Royal Exchange v 196 

72 The everlasting club 199 

86 On physiognomy 205 

8 1 Party patches 202 

90 Adventure of M. Pontignan 208 

102 Exercise of the fan 212 

viii 



CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

No. 105 On pedantry : 215 

1 5 1 The man of pleasure 217 

156 A woman's man 221 

173 Account of a grinning-match 224 

179 Account of a whistling-match 227 

195 On temperance 230 

198 Character of the salamanders 234 

209 Satire on women 237 

215 On education 241 

251 The cries of London 244 

262 The Spectator's success 248 

295 Pin-money 251 

299 Letter from Sir John Envil 254 

317 On waste of time 258 

323 A young lady's journal of a week 262 

367 Various advantages of the spectators 266 

371 Humourous way of sorting companies 268 

397 On compassion 272 

403 On the death of the King of France 275 

435 On female extravagances 278 

447 Custom 281 

452 On news-writers and readers 284 

458 On true and false modesty 288 

530 Marriage of Will Honeycomb 291 

549 On retirement 293 

Sterne and Goldsmith 

From Thackeray's English Humorists 297 

Sterne 

The Story of Le Fever (from the Life and Opinions of Tristram 

Shandy) ^25 

Saunterings in France, Book VII (from the Life and Opinions 

of Tristram Shandy) , 239 



CONTENTS. 

PAGB 

Goldsmith 

Papers from The Citizen of the World : letters from a Chinese 

philosopher, residing in London, to his friends in the East. 

No. I Introduction 389 

2 Arrival of the Chinese philosopher in London. His 

motives for the journey. Some description of the 
streets and houses 389 

3 The description of London continued. The luxury 

of the English. Its benefits. The fine gentle- 
man. The fine lady 392 

4* English pride. Liberty. An instance of both. 

Newspapers. Politeness 395 

^5 English passion for politics. A specimen of a news- 
paper. Characteristics of the manners of 
different countries 398 

12 The funeral solemnities of the English. Their 

passion for flattering epitaphs 401 

13 An account of Westminster Abbey. (First appear- 

ance of the "Man in Black") 404 

14 The reception of the philosopher from a lady of 

distinction 408 

21 The philosopher goes to see a play 411 

26 The character of the Man in Black; with some in- 

stances of his inconsistent conduct 415 

27 The history of the Man in Black 418 

28 On the great number of old maids and bachelors in 

London. Some of the causes 423 

29 A description of a club of authors , 426 

30 The proceedings of the club of authors 428 

41 The behaviour of the congregation in St. Paul's 

church at prayers 433 

45 The ardour of the people of London in running after 

sights and monsters 435 

46 (The looking-glass of Lao), a dream 439 

X 



CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

No. 51 A bookseller's visit to the Chinese philosopher 443 

52 The impossibility of distinguishing men in England 

by their dress. Two instances of this 446 

53 The absurd taste for certain forms of literature .... 449 

54 The character of an important trifler, (Beau Tibbs). 452 

55 The character of the trifler continued: with that 

of his wife, his house, and furniture 455 

58 A visitation dinner described 458 

64 The great exchange happiness for show. Their 

folly in this respect of use to society 462 

65 The history of a philosophic cobbler 464 

71 The shabby Beau, the Man in Black, the Chinese 

Philosopher, etc., at Vauxhall 466 

74 The description of a little great man 470 

77 The behaviour of a shopkeeper and his journeyman 473 

78 The French ridiculed after their own manner 475 

79 The preparations of both theatres, for a winter cam- 

paign 477 

81 The ladies' trains ridiculed 479 

86 The races of Newmarket ridiculed. Description of 

a cart race 481 

88 The ladies advised to get husbands. A story to 

this purpose 484 

90 The English subject to the spleen 487 

91 The influence of climate and soil upon the tempers 

and dispositions of the English 490 

96 The condolence and congratulation upon the death 
of the late king ridiculed. English mourning 
described 492 

98 A description of the courts of justice in Westminster 

Hall .' 495 

99 A visit from the little Beau. The indulgence with 

which the fair sex are treated in several parts of 
Asia 498 

xi 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 



No. I02 The passion for gaming among ladies ridiculed. . . 500 

105 The intended coronation described 501 

112 An election described 505 

117 A city night-piece 507 

119 On the distresses of the poor; exemplified in the life 

of a private sentinel 509 

123 The conclusion 513 



Xll 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 

FROM THE WORKS OF 

WILLIAM HOGARTH 



IL LUSTRA TING " THE TA TLER" 

Marriage a la mode, Plate I Frontispiece 

FACING PAGE 

Roast Beef at the Gate of Calais No, 148 90 

The Politician ^55 • 98 

The Country Inn Yard 192 108 

Modern Midnight Conversation 263 128 

ILLUSTRATING "THE SPECTATOR" 

Taste in High Life No. 15 164 

Marriage a la mode, Plate IV 45 192 ■ 

The Rake's Progress, Plate II 151 218 

Southwark Fair 1 73 & 1 79 . . 226 

The Enraged Musician 251 246 

ILLUSTRATING "THE CITIZEN OF THE WORLD" 

Morning Letter II 390 

Noon Ill 394 

England, Plate II IV 396 

The Election, Plate II, canvassing for votes. . V 400 - 

The Sleeping Congregation XLI 434 , 

France, Plate I LXXVIII .476 

Marriage a la mode, Plate II CII 500 

The Election, Plate I, the Entertainment CXII 506 



PAPERS FROM 

THE TATLER AND THE SPECTATOR 

BY SIR RICHARD STEELE AND 
JOSEPH ADDISON 

WITH INTRODUCTIONS FROM 

THACKERAY'S "ENGLISH HUMORISTS" 



STEELE 



STEELE 

From THACKERAY'S "ENGLISH HUMORISTS" 



WHAT do we look for in stud>'ing the history of a past age ? 
Is it to learn the political transactions and characters of the 
leading public men? is it to make ourselves acquainted with the 
life and being of the time ? If we set out with the former grave 
purpose, where is the truth, and who believes that he has it entire ? 
\\1iat character of what great man is known to you? You can 
but make guesses as to character more or less happy. In common 
life don't you often judge and misjudge a man's whole conduct, 
setting out from a wrong impression? The tone of a voice, a 
word said in joke, or a trifle in behavior — the cut of his hair or 
the tie of his neck-doth may disfigure him in your eyes, or poison 
your good opinion; or at the end of years of intimacy it may be 
your closest friend says something, reveals something which had 
prenously been a secret, which alters all your \-iews about him, and 
shows that he has been acting on quite a different motive to that 
which you fancied you knew. And if it is so with those you know, 
how much more with those you don't know? Say, for example, 
that I want to understand the character of the Duke of Marlborough. 
I read Swift's history of the times in which he took a part; the 
shrewdest of observers and initiated, one would think, into the 
politics of the age — he hints to me that Marlborough was a coward, 
and even of doubtful mihtary capacity: he speaks of Walpole as a 
contemptible boor, and scarcely mentions, except to flout it, the 
great intrigue of the Queen's latter days, which was to have ended 
in bringing back the Pretender. Again, I read Marlborough's 
life by a copious archdeacon, who has the command of immense 
papers, of sonorous language, of what is called the best information; 
and I get little or no insight into this secret motive which, I beheve, 
influenced the whole of Marlborough's career, which caused his 
turnings and windmgs, his opportune fidelity and treason, stopped 
his army almost at Paris gate, and landed him finally on the HaJio- 



STEELE 

verian side — the winning side: I get, I say, no truth, or only a 
portion of it, in the narrative of either writer,and beUeve that Coxe's 
portrait, or Swift's portrait, is quite unUke the real Churchill. 
I take this as a single instance, prepared to be as sceptical about 
any other, and say to the Muse of History, " O venerable daughter 
of Mnemosyne, I doubt every single statement you ever made 
since your ladyship was a Muse ! For all your grave airs and high 
pretensions, you are not a whit more trustworthy than some of 
your lighter sisters on whom your partisans look down. You bid 
me listen to a general's oration to his soldiers: Nonsense! He no 
more made it than Turpin made his dymg speech at Newgate. 
You pronounce a panegyric of a hero: I doubt it, and say you 
flatter outrageously. You utter the condemnation of a loose 
character: I doubt it, and think you are prejudiced and take the 
side of the Dons. You offer me an autobiography: I doubt all 
autobiographies I ever read ; except those, perhaps, of Mr. Robin- 
son Crusoe, Mariner, and writers of his class. These have 
no object in setting themselves right with the public or their own 
consciences; these have no motive for concealment or half-truths; 
these call for no more confidence than I can cheerfully give, and do 
not force me to tax my credulity or to fortify it by evidence. I take 
.up a volume of Dr. Smollett, or a volume of the Spectator, and 
say the fiction carries a greater amount of truth in solution than 
the volume which purports to be all true. Out of the fictitious 
book I get the expression of the life of the time; of the manners, of 
the movement, the dress, the pleasures, the laughter, the ridicules 
of society — the old times live again, and I travel in the old country 
of England. Can the heaviest historian do more for me?" 

As we read in these delightful volumes of the Tatler and Specta- 
tor the past age returns, the England of our ancestors is revivified. 
The Maypole rises in the Strand again in London ; the churches are 
thronged with daily worshippers; the beaux are gathering in the 
coffee-houses; the gentry are going to the Drawing-room; the ladies 
are thronging to the toy-shops; the chairmen are jostling in the 
streets; the footmen are running with links before the chariots, or 
fighting round the theatre doors. In the country I see the young 
Squire riding to Eton with his servants behind him, and Will 
Wimble, the friend of the family, to see him safe. To make that 
journey from the Squire's and back. Will is a week on horseback. 
The coach takes five days between London and Bath. The judges 

4 



STEELE 

and the bar ride the circuit. If my lady comes to town in her post- 
chariot, her people carry pistols to fire a salute on Captain Macheath 
if he should appear, and her couriers ride ahead to prepare apart- 
ments for her at the great caravanserais on the road; Boniface 
receives her under the creaking sign of the "Bell" or the "Ram," 
and he and his chamberlains bow her up the great stair to the 
state-apartments, whilst her carriage rumbles into the court-yard, 
where the "Exeter Fly" is housed that performs the journey in 
eight days, God willing, having achieved its daily flight of twenty 
miles, and landed its passengers for supper and sleep. The curate 
is taking his pipe in the kitchen, where the Captain's man — ha\ing 
hung up his master's half pike — is at his bacon and eggs, bragging 
of Ramillies and Malplaquet to the town's-folk, who have their 
club in the chimney-corner. The Captain is ogling the chamber- 
maid in the wooden gallery, or bribing her to know who is the 
pretty young mistress that has come in the coach. The pack- 
horses are in the great stable, and the drivers and ostlers carousing 
in the tap. And in Mrs. Landlady's bar, over a glass of strong 
waters, sits a gentleman of military appearance, who travels with 
pistols, as all the rest of the world does, and has a rattling gray 
mare in the stables which will be saddled and away with its owner 
half an hour before the " Fly" sets out on its last day's flight. And 
some five miles on the road, as the "Exeter Fly" comes jingling 
and creaking onwards, it will suddenly be brought to a halt by a 
gentleman on a gray mare, with a black vizard on his face, who 
thrusts a long pistol into the coach window, and bids the company 
to hand out their purses. ... It must have been no small pleasure 
even to sit in the great kitchen in those days, and see the tide of 
humankind pass by. We arrive at places now, but we travel no 
more. 'Addison talks jocularly of a difference of manner and cos- 
tume being quite perceivable at Staines, where there passed a 
young fellow "with a very tolerable periwig," though, to be sure, 
his hat was out of fashion, and had a Ramillies cock. I would 
have liked to travel in those days (being of that class of travellers 
are who proverbially pretty easy coram latronibiis) and have seen 
my friend with the gray mare and the black vizard. Alas! there 
always came a day in the hfe of that warrior when it was the fashion 
to accompany him as he passed — without his black mask, and 
with a nosegay in his hand, accompanied by halberdiers and at- 
tended by the sheriff, — in a carriage without springs, and a clergy- 

5 



STEELE 

man jolting beside him, to a spot close by Cumberland Gate and 
the Marble Arch, where a stone still records that here Tyburn turn- 
pike stood. What a change in a century; in a few years! Within 
a few yards of that gate the fields began : the fields of his exploits, 
behind the hedges of which he lurked and robbed. A great and 
wealthy city has grown over those meadows. Were a man brought 
to die there now, the windows would be closed and the inhabitants 
keep their houses in sickening horror. A himdred years back, 
people crowded to see that last act of a highwayman's life, and 
make jokes on it. Swift laughed at him, grimly advising him to 
provide a Holland shirt and white cap crowned with a crimson 
or black ribbon for his exit, to mount the cart cheerfully — shake 
hands with the hangman, and so — farewell. Gay wrote the most 
delightful ballads, and made merry over the same hero. Contrast 
these with the writings of our present humorists! Compare those 
morals and ours — those manners and ours! 

We can't tell — you would not bear to be told the whole truth 
regarding those men and manners. You could no more suffer in a 
British drawing-room, under the reign of Queen Victoria, a fine 
gentleman or fine lady of Queen Anne's time, or hear what they 
heard and said, than you would receive an ancient Briton. It is 
as one reads about savages, that one contemplates the wild ways, 
the barbarous feasts, the terrific pastimes, of the men of pleasure 
of that age. We have our fine gentlemen, and our "fast men"; 
permit me to give you an idea of one particularly fast nobleman 
of Queen Anne's days, whose biography has been preserved to us 
by the law reporters. 

In 1 69 1, when Steele was a boy at school, my Lord Mohun was 
tried by his peers for the murder of William Mountford, comedian. 
In "Howell's State Trials," the reader will find not only an edify- 
ing account of this exceedingly fast nobleman, but of the times and 
manners of those days. My lord's friend, a Captain Hill, smitten 
with the charms of the beautiful Mrs. Bracegirdle, and anxious to 
marry her at all hazards, determined to carry her off, and for this 
purpose hired a hackney-coach with six horses, and a half-dozen 
of soldiers, to aid him in the storm. The coach with a pair of 
horses (the four leaders being in waiting elsewhere) took its station 
opposite my Lord Craven's house in Drury Lane, by which door 
Mrs. Bracegirdle was to pass on her way from the theatre. As she 
passed in company of her mamma and a friend, Mr. Page, the 
6 



STEELE 

Captain seized her by the hand, the soldiers hustled Mr. Page and 
attacked him sword in hand, and Captain Hill and his noble friend 
endeavored to force Madam Bracegirdle into the coach. Mr. 
Page called for help: the population of Drury Lane rose: it was 
impossible to effect the capture; and bidding the soldiers go about 
their business, and the coach to drive off, Hill let go of his prey 
sulkily, and waited for other opportunities of revenge. The man 
of whom he was most jealous was Will Mountford, the comedian; 
Will removed, he thought Mrs. Bracegirdle might be his: and ac- 
cordingly the Captain and his lordship lay that night in wait for 
Will, and as he was coming out of a house in Norfolk Street, while 
Mohun engaged him in talk. Hill, in the words of the Attorney- 
General, made a pass and ran him clean through the body. 

Sixty-one of my lord's peers finding him not guilty of murder, 
while but fourteen found him guilty, this very fast nobleman was 
discharged: and made his appearance seven years after in another 
trial for murder — when he, my Lord Warwick, and three gentle- 
men of the military profession, were concerned in the fight which 
ended in the death of Captain Coote. 

This jolly company were drinking together at "Lockit's" in 
Charing Cross, when angry words arose between Captain Coote 
and Captain French; whom my Lord Mohun and my Lord the 
Earl of Warwick and Holland endeavored to pacify. My Lord 
Warwick was a dear friend of Captain Coote, lent him a hundred 
poimds to buy his commission in the Guards; once when the cap- 
tain w^as arrested for 13/. by his tailor, my lord lent him five guineas, 
often paid his reckoning for him, and showed him other ofl&ces of 
friendship. On this evening the disputants, French and Coote, 
being separated whilst they were upstairs, unluckily stopped to 
drink ale again at the bar of " Lockit's." The row began afresh — 
Coote lunged at French over the bar, and at last all six called for 
chairs, and went to Leicester Fields, where they fell to. Their 
lordships engaged on the side of Captain Coote. My Lord of 
Warwick was severely wounded in the hand, Mr. French also was 
stabbed, but honest Captain Coote got a couple of wounds — one 
especially, "a wound in the left side just under the short ribs, and 
piercing through the diaphragma," which did for Captain Coote. 
Hence the trials of my Lords Wan\dck and Mohun : hence the as- 
semblage of peers, the report of the transaction, in which these 
defunct fast men still live for the observation of the curious. My 



STEELE 

Lord of Warwick is brought to the bar by the Depaity Governor 
of the Tower of London, having the axe carried before him by the 
gentleman gaoler, who stood with it at the bar at the right hand 
of the prisoner, turning the edge from him; the prisoner, at his 
approach, making three bows, one to his Grace the Lord High 
Steward, the other to the peers on each hand; and his Grace and 
the peers return the salute. And besides these great personages, 
august in periwigs, and nodding to the right and left, a host of the 
small come up out of the past and pass before us — the jolly cap- 
tains brawling in the tavern, and laughing and cursing over their 
cups — the drawer that serves, the bar-girl that waits, the bailiflf 
on the prowl, the chairmen trudging through the black lampless 
streets, and smoking their pipes by the railings, whilst swords are 
clashing in the garden within. " Help there ! a gentleman is hurt !" 
The chairmen put up their pipes, and help the gentleman over the 
railings, and carry him, ghastly and bleeding, to the Bagnio in 
Long Acre, where they knock up the surgeon — a pretty tall gentle- 
man : but that woimd under the short ribs has done for him. Sur- 
geon, lords, captains, bailiffs, chairmen, and gentleman gaoler 
with your axe, where be you now? The gentleman axeman's 
head is off his own shoulders; the lords and judges can wag theirs 
no longer; the bailiff's writs have ceased to run; the honest chair- 
men's pipes are put out, and with their brawny calves they have 
walked away into Hades — all as irrecoverably done for as Will 
Mountford or Captam Coote. The subject of our night's lectiure 
saw all these people — rode in Captain Coote's company of the 
Guards very probably — wrote and sighed for Bracegirdle, went 
home tipsy in many a chair, after many a bottle, m many a tavern — 
fled from many a bailiff. 

In 1709, when the publication of the Tatler began, otir great- 
great-grandfathers must have seized upon that new and delightful 
paper with much such eagerness as lovers of light Uterature in a 
later day exhibited when the Waverley novels appeared, upon 
which the public rushed, forsaking that feeble entertainment of 
which the Miss Porters, the Anne of Swanseas, and worthy Mrs. 
Radcliffe herself, with her dreary castles and exploded old ghosts, 
had had pretty much the monopoly. I have looked over many 
of the comic books with which our ancestors amused themselves, 
from the novels of Swift's coadjutrix, Mrs. Manley, the delectable 
author of the " New Atlantis," to the facetious productions of Tom 
8 



STEELE 

Durfey, and Tom Brown, and Ned Ward, writer of the "London 
Spy" and several other volumes of ribaldry. The slang of the 
taverns and ordinaries, the wit of the Bagnios, form the strongest 
part of the farrago of which these libels are composed. In the 
excellent newspaper collection at the British Museum, you may see 
besides, the Craftsman and Postboy specimens, and queer speci- 
mens they are, of the higher literature of Queen Anne's time. Here 
is an abstract from a notable journal bearing date, Wednesday, 
October 13th, 1708, and entitled 'T/je British Apollo; or, curious 
amusements for the ingenious, by a society of gentlemen." The 
British Apollo invited and professed to answer questions upon 
aU subjects of wit, morality, science, and even religion; and two 
out of its four pages are filled with queries and replies much like 
some of the oracular penny prints of the present time. 

One of the first querists, referring to the passage that a bishop 
should be the husband of one wife, argues that polygamy is justifi- 
able in the laity. The society of gentlemen conducting the British 
Apollo are posed by this casuist, and promise to give him an answer. 
Celinda then wishes to know from "the gentlemen," concerning 
the souls of the dead, whether they shall have the satisfaction to 
know those whom they most valued in this transitory life. The 
gentlemen of the Apollo give but cold comfort to poor Celinda. 
They are inclined to think not : for, say they, since every inhabitant 
of those regions will be infinitely dearer than here are our nearest 
relatives — what have we to do with a partial friendship in that 
happy place ? Poor Celinda ! it may have been a child or a lover 
whom she had lost, and was pining after, when the oracle of British 
Apollo gave her this dismal answer. She has solved the question 
for herself by this time, and knows quite as well as the society of 
gentlemen. 

From theology we come to physics, and Q. asks, "Why does hot 
water freeze sooner than cold ? " Apollo replies, " Hot water cannot 
be said to freeze sooner than cold; but water once heated and cold, 
may be subject to freeze by the evaporation of the spirituous parts 
of the water, which renders it less able to withsand the power of 
frosty weather." 

The next query is rather a delicate one. "You, Mr. Apollo, 
who are said to be the God of wisdom, pray give us the reason why 
kissing is so much in fashion: what benefit one receives by it, and 
who was the inventor, and you will oblige Corinna." To this 



STEELE 

queer demand the lips of Phoebus, smiling, answer: "Pretty inno- 
cent Corinna! Apollo owns that he was a little surprised by your 
kissing question, particularly at that part of it where you desire 
to know the benefit you receive by it. Ah! madam, had you a 
lover, you would not come to Apollo for a solution; since there is 
no dispute but the kisses of mutual lovers give infinite satisfaction. 
As to its invention, 'tis certain natiure was its author, and it began 
with the first courtship." 

After a column more of questions, follow nearly two pages of 
poems, signed by Philander, Armenia, and the Uke, and chiefly 
on the tender passion ; and the paper wound up with a letter from 
Leghorn, an account of the Duke of Marlborough and Prince 
Eugene before Lille, and proposals for publishing two sheets on the 
present state of ^Ethiopia, by Mr. Hill: all of which is printed for 
the authors by J. Mayo, at the Printing Press against Water Lane 
in Fleet Street. What a change it must have been — how Apollo's 
cracles must have been struck dumb, when the Taller appeared, 
and scholars, gentlemen, men of the world, men of genius, began 
to speak! 

Shortly before the Boyne was fought, and young Swift had begim 
to make acquaintance with English court manners and English 
servitude, in Sir William Temple's family, another Irish youth 
was brought to learn his humanities at the old school of Charter- 
house, near Smithfield ; to which foundation he had been appointed 
by James Duke of Ormond, a governor of the House, and a patron 
of the lad's family. The boy was an orphan, and described, twenty 
years after, with a sweet pathos and simplicity, some of the earliest 
recollections of a life which was destined to be chequered by a 
strange variety of good and evil fortune. 

I am afraid no good report could be given by his masters and 
ushers of that thick-set, square-faced, black-eyed, soft-hearted 
little Lish boy. He was very idle. He was whipped deservedly 
a great number of times. Though he had very good parts of his 
own, he got other boys to do his lessons for him, and only took just 
as much trouble as should enable him to scuffle through his exer- 
cises, and by good fortune escape the flogging-block. One hundred 
and fifty years after, I have myself inspected, but only as an ama- 
teur, that instrument of righteous torture still existing, and in occa- 
sional use, in a secluded private apartment of the old Charterhouse 
School; and have no doubt it is the very counterpart, if not the 

lO 



STEELE 

ancient and interesting machine itself, at which poor Dick Steele 
submitted himself to the tormentors. 

Besides being very kind, lazy, and good-natured, this boy went 
invariably into debt with the tart -woman; ran out of bounds, and 
entered into pecuniary, or other promissory, engagements with the 
neighboring lollipop-venders and piemen — exhibited an early 
fondness and capacity for drinking mum and sack, and borrowed 
from all his comrades who had money to lend. I have no sort of 
authority for the statements here made of Steele's early hfe; but 
if the child is father of the man, the father of young Steele of Mer- 
ton, who left Oxford without taking a degree, and entered the Life 
Guards — the father of Captain Steele of Lucas's Fusiliers, who 
got his company through the patronage of my Lord Cutts — the 
father of Mr. Steele the Commissioner of Stamps, the editor of the 
Gazette, the Tatler, and Spectator, the expelled Member of Parlia- 
ment, and the author of the "Tender Husband" and the "Con- 
scious Lovers " ; if man and boy resembled each other, Dick Steele 
the schoolboy must have been one of the most generous, good-for- 
nothmg, amiable little creatures that ever conjugated the verb 
iupto, I beat, tuptomai, I am whipped, in any school in Great 
Britain. 

Almost every gentleman who does me the honor to hear me 
will remember that the very greatest character which he has seen 
in the course of his life, and the person to whom he has looked up 
with the greatest wonder and reverence, was the head boy at his 
school. The schoolmaster himself hardly inspires such an awe. 
The head boy construes as well as the schoolmaster himself. When 
he begins to speak the hall is hushed, and every little boy listens. 
He writes off copies of Latin verses as melodiously as Virgil. He 
is good-natured, and, his own masterpieces achieved, pours out 
other copies of verses for other boys with an astonishing ease and 
fluency, the idle ones only trembling lest they should be discovered 
on giving in their exercises, and whipped because their poems were 
too good. I have seen great men in my time, but never such a 
great one as that head boy of my childhood: we all thought he 
must be Prime Minister, and I was disappointed on meeting him 
in after life to find he was no more than six feet high. 

Dick Steele, the Charterhouse gownboy, contracted such an 
admiration in the years of his childhood, and retained it faith- 
fully through his life. Through the school and through the world, 



STEELE 

whithersoever his strange fortune led this erring, wayward, affec- 
tionate creature, Joseph Addison was always his head boy. Addi- 
son wrote his exercises. Addison did his best themes. He ran 
Addison's messages: fagged for him and blacked his shoes: to be 
in Joe's company was Dick's greatest pleasure; and he took a 
sermon or a caning from his monitor with the most boundless 
reverence, acquiescence, and affection. 

Steele found Addison a stately college Don at Oxford, and 
himself did not make much figure at this place. He wrote a 
comedy, which, by the advice of a friend, the humble fellow burned 
there; and some verses, which I dare say are as sublime as other 
gentlemen's composition at that age; but being smitten with a 
sudden love for military glory, he threw up the cap and gown for 
the saddle and bridle, and rode privately in the Horse Guards, in 
the Duke of Ormond's troop — the second — and probably, with 
the rest of the gentlemen of his troop, "all mounted on black horses 
with white feathers in their hats, and scarlet coats richly laced," 
marched by King William, in Hyde Park, in November, 1699, and 
a great show of the nobility, besides twenty thousand people, and 
above a thousand coaches. "The Guards had just got their new 
clothes," the London Post said: "they are extraordinary grand, 
and thought to be the finest body of horse in the world." But 
Steele could hardly have seen any actual service. He who wrote 
about himself, his mother, his wife, his loves, his debts, his friends, 
and the wine he drank, would have told us of his battles if he had 
seen any. His old patron, Ormond, probably got him his cornetcy 
in the Guards, from which he was promoted to be a captain in 
Lucas's Fusiliers, getting his company through the patronage of 
Lord Cutts, whose secretary he was, and to whom he dedicated 
his work called the " Christian Hero." As for Dick, whilst writing 
this ardent devotional work, he was deep in debt, in drink, and in 
all the follies of the town; it is related that all the officers of Lucas's, 
and the gentlemen of the Guards, laughed at Dick. And in truth 
a theologian in Hquor is not a respectable object, and a hermit, 
though he may be out at elbows, must not be in debt to the tailor. 
Steele says of himself that he was always sinning and repenting. 
He beat his breast and cried most piteously when he did repent: 
but as soon as crying had made him thirsty, he fell to sinning again. 
In that charming paper in the Tatler, in which he records his 
father's death, his mother's griefs, his own most solemn and tender 



STEELE 

emotions, he says he is interrupted by the arrival of a hamper of 
wine, "the same as is to be sold at Garraway's, next week"; upon 
the receipt of which he sends for three friends, and they fall to 
instantly, " drinking two bottles apiece, with great benefit to them- 
selves, and not separating till two o'clock in the morning." 

His life was so. Jack the drawer was always interrupting it, 
bringing him a bottle from the "Rose," or inviting him over to a 
bout there with Sir Plume and .Mr. Diver; and Dick wiped his 
eyes, which were whimpering over his papers, took down his laced 
hat, put on his sword and wig, kissed his wife and children, told 
them a He about pressing business, and went off to the "Rose" 
to the jolly fellows. 

While Mr. Addison was abroad, and after he came home in rather 
a dismal way to wait upon Providence in his shabby lodging in the 
Haymarket, young Captain Steele was cutting a much smarter 
figure than that of his classical friend of Charterhouse Cloister 
and Maudlin Walk. Could not some painter give an interview 
between the gallant captain of Lucas's, with his hat cocked, and 
his lace, and his face too, a trifle tarnished with drink, and that 
poet, that philosopher, pale, proud, and poor, his friend and moni- 
tor of school-days, of all days? How Dick must have bragged 
about his chances and his hopes, and the fine company he kept, 
and the charms of the reigning toasts and popular actresses, and 
the number of bottles that he and my lord and some other pretty 
fellows had cracked over-night at the "Devil," or the "Garter!" 
Cannot one fancy Joseph Addison's calm smile and cold gray 
eyes following Dick for an instant, as he struts down the Mall, 
to dine with the Guard at St. James's, before he turns with his 
sober pace and threadbare suit, to walk back to his lodgings up the 
two pair of stairs? Steele's name was down for promotion, Dick 
always said himself, in the glorious, pious, and immortal WiUiam's 
last table-book. Jonathan Swift's name had been written there 
by the same hand too. 

Our worthy friend, the author of the " Christian Hero," con- 
tinued to make no small figure about town by the use of his wits. 
He was appointed Gazetteer: he wrote, in 1703, "The Tender 
Husband," his second play, in which there is some delightful 
farcical writing, and of which he fondly owned in after-life, and 
when Addison was no more, that there were "many applauded 
strokes" from Addison's beloved hand. Is it not a pleasant part- 

13 



STEELE 

nership to remember? Can't one fancy Steele full of spirits and 
youth, leaving his gay company to go to Addison's lodging, where 
his friend sits in the shabby sitting-room, quite serene, and cheer- 
ful, and poor? In 1704, Steele came on the town with another 
comedy, and behold it was so moral and religious, as poor Dick 
insisted, — so dull the town thought, — that the "Lying Lover" 
was damned. 

Addison's hour of success now came, and he was able to 
help our friend the " Christian Hero " in such a way, that, if 
there had been any chance of keeping that poor tipsy cham- 
pion upon his legs, his fortune was safe, and his competence as- 
sured. Steele procured the place of Commissioner of Stamps: he 
wrote so richly, so gracefully often, so kindly always, with such a 
pleasant wit and easy frankness, with such a gush of good spirits 
and good humor, that his early papers may be compared to 
Addison's own, and are to be read, by a male reader at least, 
with quite an equal pleasure. 

After the Tatler in 171 1, the famous Spectator made its ap- 
pearance, and this was followed, at various intervals, by many 
periodicals under the same editor — the Guardian — the English- 
man — the Lover, whose love was rather insipid — the Reader, 
of whom the public saw no more after his second appearance — 
the Theatre, under the pseudonym of Sir John Edgar, which 
Steele wrote while Governor of the Royal Company of Comedians, 
to which post, and to that of Surveyor of the Royal Stables at 
Hampton Court, and to the Commission of the Peace for Middle- 
sex, and to the honor of knighthood, Steele had been preferred 
soon after the accession of George I. ; whose cause honest Dick had 
nobly fought, through disgrace, and danger, against the most 
formidable enemies, against traitors and bullies, against Boling- 
broke and Swift in the last reign. With the arrival of the King, 
that splendid conspiracy broke up ; and a golden opportunity came 
to Dick Steele, whose hand, alas, was too careless to gripe it. 

Steele married twice; and outlived his places, his schemes, his 
wife, his income, his health, and almost everything but his kind 
heart. That ceased to trouble him in 1729, when he died, worn 
out and almost forgotten by his contemporaries, in Wales, where 
he had the remnant of a property. 

Posterity has been kinder to this amiable creature; all women 
especially are bound to be grateful to Steele, as he was the first 

14 



STEELE 

of our writers who really seemed to admire and respect them. 
Congreve the Great, who alludes to the low estimation in which 
women were held in Elizabeth's time, as a reason why the women 
of Shakspeare make so small a figure in the poet's dialogues, 
though he can himself pay splendid compliments to women, yet 
looks on them as mere instruments of gallantry, and destined, like 
the most consummate fortifications, to fall, after a certain time, 
before the arts and bravery of the besieger, man. There is a letter 
of Swift's, entitled "Advice to a very Yoimg Married Lady," 
which shows the Dean's opinion of the female society of his day, 
and that if he despised man he utterly scorned women to. No 
lady of our time could be treated by any man, were he ever so 
much a wit or Dean, in such a tone of insolent patronage and 
vulgar protection. In this performance. Swift hardly take pains 
to hide his opinion that a woman is a fool: tells her to read books, 
as if reading was a novel accomplishment; and informs her that 
"not one gentleman's daughter in a thousand has been brought 
to read or understand her own natural tongue." Addison laughs 
at women equally; but, with the gentleness and politeness of his 
nature, smiles at them and watches them, as if they were harmless, 
half-witted, amusing, pretty creatures, only made to be man's 
playthings. It was Steele who first began to pay a manly homage 
to their goodness and understanding, as well as to their tenderness 
and beauty. In his comedies, the heroes do not rant and rave 
about the divine beauties of Gloriana or Statira, as the characters 
were made to do in the chivalry romances and the high-flown 
dramas just going out of vogue; but Steele admires women's 
virtue, acknowledges their sense, and adores their purity and 
beauty, with an ardor and strength which should win the good-will 
of all women to their hearty and respectful champion. It is this 
ardor, this respect, this manliness, which makes his comedies so 
pleasant and their heroes such fine gentlemen. He paid the finest 
compliment to a woman that perhaps ever was offered. Of one 
woman, whom Congreve had also admired and celebrated, Steele 
says, that "to have loved her was a liberal education." "How 
often," he says, dedicating a volume to his wife, "how often has 
yoiir tenderness removed pain from my sick head, how often anguish 
from my afflicted heart! If there are such beings as guardian 
angels, they are thus employed. I cannot believe one of them to 
be more good in inclination, or more more charming in form than 

15 



STEELE 

my wife." His breast seems to warm and his eyes to kindle when 
he meets with a good and beautiful woman, and it is with his heart 
as well as with his hat that he salutes her. About children, and 
all that relates to home, he is not less tender, and more than once 
speaks in apology of what he calls his softness. He would have 
been nothing without that delightful weakness. It is that which 
gives his works their worth and his style its charm. It, like his 
life, is full of faults and careless blunders; and redeemed, like that, 
by his sweet and compassionate nature. 

We possess of poor Steele's wild and chequered life some of the 
most curious memoranda that ever were left of a man's biography.* 

* The Correspondence of Steele passed after his death into the possession 
of his daughter Elizabeth, by his second wife, Miss Scurlock, of Carmarthen- 
shire. She married the Hon. John, afterwards third Lord Trevor. At her 
death, part of the letters passed to Mr. Thomas, a grandson of a natural 
daughter of Steele's; and part to Lady Trevor's next of kin, Mr. Scurlock. 
They were published by the learned Nichols — from whose later edition of 
them, in 1809, our specimens are quoted. 

Here we have him, in his courtship — which was not a very long one: — 

"To Mrs. Sctjrlock. 

"Aug. 30, 1707. 
"Madam, — I beg pardon that my paper is not finer, but I am forced to 
write from a coffee-house, where I am attending about business. There is a 
dirty crowd of busy faces all around me, talking of money; while all my am- 
bition, all my wealth, is love! Love which animates my heart, sweetens my 
humor, enlarges my soul, and affects every action of my Ufe. It fs to my 
lovely charmer I owe, that many noble ideas are continually affixed to my 
words and actions; it is the natural effect of that generous passion to create in 
the admirer some similitude of the object admired. Thus, my dear, am I 
every day to improve from so sweet a companion. Look up, my fair one, to 
that Heaven which made thee such; and join with me to implore its influence 
on our tender innocent hours, and beseech the Author of love to bless the rites 
He has ordained — and mingle with our happiness a just sense of our transient 
condition, and a resignation to His will, which only can regulate our minds to 
a steady endeavour to please Him and each other. 

"I am for ever your faithful servant, 

"Rich. Steele." 

Some few hours afterwards, apparently, Mistress Scurlock received the 
next one — obviously written later in the day: — 

"Saturday night (Aug. 30, 1707). 
"Dear, Lovely Mrs. Scurlock, — I have been in very good company, 
where your health, under the character of the woman I loved best, has been 
16 



STEELE 

Most men's letters, from Cicero down to Walpole, or down to the 
great men of our own time, if you will, are doctored compositions, 
and written with an eye suspicious towards posterity. That dedi- 
cation of Steele's to his wife is an artificial performance, possibly; 
at least, it is written with that degree of artifice which an orator 
uses in arranging a statement for the House, or a poet employs in 
preparing a sentiment in verse or for the stage. But there are 
some 400 letters of Dick Steele's to his wife, which that thrifty 
woman preserved accurately, and which could have been written 
but for her and her alone. They contain details of the business, 
pleasures, quarrels, reconciliations of the pair; they have all the 

often drunk; so that I may say that I am dead drunk for your sake; which is 
more than I die for you. 

Rich. Steele." 
"To Mrs. ScxniLOCK. 

"Sept. I, 1707. 
"Madam, — It is the hardest thing in the world to be in love, and yet 
attend business. As for me, all who speak to me find me out, and I must 
lock myself up, or other people will do it for me. 

"A gentleman asked me this morning, 'What news from Lisbon?' and I 
answered, 'She is exquisitely handsome.' Another desired to know 'when 
I had last been at Hampton Court?' I replied, 'It will be on Tuesday come 
se'nnight.' Pr'ythee allow me at least to kiss your hand before that day, 
that my mind may be in some composure. O Love! 

'A thousand torments dwell about thee, 
Yet who could live, to five without thee?' 
"Methinks I could write a volume to you; but all the language on earth 
would fail in saying how much, and with what disinterested passion, 

"I am ever yours, 

"Rich. Steele." 

Two days after this, he is found expounding his circumstances and pros- 
pects to the young lady's mamma. He dates from " Lord Sunderland's oflSce, 
Whitehall"; and states his clear income at 1,025/. P^"" annum. "I promise 
myself," says he, "the pleasure of an industrious and virtuous life, in studying 
to do things agreeable to you." 

They were married, according to the most probable conjectures, about the 
7th Sept. There are traces of a tiff about the middle of the next month; she 
being prudish and fidgety, as he was impassioned and reckless. General prog- 
ress, however, may be seen from the following notes. The "house in Bury 
Street, St. James's" was now taken. 

"To Mrs. Steele. 

"Oct. 16, 1707. 
"Dearest Bi;ing on Earth, — Pardon me if you do not see me till eleven 

17 



STEELE 

genuineness of conversations ; they are as artless as a child's prattle, 
and as confidential as a curtain-lecture. Some are written from 
the printing-office, where he is waiting for the proof-sheets of his 
Gazelle, or his Taller; some are written from the tavern, whence 
he promises to come to his wife "within a pint of wine," and where 
he has given a rendezvous to a friend, or a money-lender: some 
are composed in a high state of vinous excitement, when his head 
is flustered with burgundy, and his heart abounds with amorous 
warmth for his darling Prue: some are imder the influence of the 
dismal headache and repentance next morning: some, alas, are 
from the lock-up house, where the lawyers have impounded him, 

o'clock, having met a school-fellow from India, by whom I am to be informed 
on things this night which expressly concern your obedient husband, 

Rich. Steele." 

"To Mrs. Steele. 

"Eight o'clock, FoxnMTAiN Tavern, 
Oct. 22, 1707. 

"My Dear, — I beg of you not to be uneasy; for I have done a great deal 
of business to-day very successfully, and wait an hour or two about my 
Gazette." 

"Dec. 22, 1707. 

"My DEAR, dear Wife, — I write to let you know I do not come home 
to dinner, being obliged to attend some business abroad, of which I shall give 
you an account (when I see you in the evening), as becomes your dutiful and 
obedient husband." 

"Devil Tavern, Temple Bar, 
Jan. 3, 1707-8. 

" Dear Prue, — I have partly succeeded in my business to-day, and 
inclose two guineas as earnest of more. Dear Prue, I cannot come home 
to dinner. I languish for your welfare, and will never be a moment care- 
less more. Your faithful husband," &c. 

" Jan. 14, 1707-8. 

"Dear Wife, — Mr. Edgecombe, Ned Ask, and Mr. Lumley have desired 
me to sit an hour vdth them at the 'George,' in Pall Mall, for which I desire 
your patience till twelve o'clock, and that you will go to bed," &c. 

"GRAy's Inn, Feb. 3, 1708. 

"Dear Prue, — If the man who has my shoemaker's bill calls, let him 
be answered that I shall call on him as I come home. I stay here in order to 
18 



STEELE 

and where he is waiting for bail. You trace many years of the poor 
fellow's career in these letters. In September, 1707, from which 
day she began to save the letters, he married the beautiful Mistress 
Scurlock. You have his passionate protestations to the lady; 
his respectful proposals to her mamma ; his private prayer to Heaven 
when the union so ardently desired was completed; his fond pro- 
fessions of contrition and promises of amendment, when, immedi- 
ately after his marriage there began to be just cause for the one 
and need for the other. 

Captain Steele took a house for his lady upon their marriage, 
"the third door from Germain Street, left hand of Berry Street," 

get Jonson to discount a bill for me, and shall dine with him for that end. 
He is expected at home every minute. 

"Your most humble, obedient servant," &c. 



"Tennis-coxjrt, Coffee-house, May 5, 1708. 

" Dear Wife, — I hope I have done this day what will be pleasing to 
you; in the meantime shall lie this night at a baker's, one Leg, over against 
the 'Devil Tavern,' at Charing Cross. I shalj be able to confront the fools 
who wish me uneasy, and shall have the satisfaction to see thee cheerful 
and at ease. 

"If the printer's boy be at home, send him hither; and let Mrs. Todd 
send by the boy my night-gown, slippers, and clean Unen. You shall hear 
from me early in the morning," &c. 

Dozens of similar letters follow, with occasional gmneas, little parcels 
of tea, or walnuts, &c. In 1709 the Tatler''vaa.de its appearance. The fol- 
lowing curious note dates April 7th, 17 10: — 

" I inclose to you [' Dear Prue '] a receipt for the saucepan and spoon, and 
a note of 23/. of Lewis's, which will make up the 50/. I promised for your en- 
suing occasions. 

" I know no happiness in this life in any degree comparable to the pleasure 
I have in your person and society. I only beg of you to add to your other 
charms a fearfulness to see a man that loves you in pain and uneasiness, to 
make me as happy as it is possible to be in this hfe. Rising a little in a morn- 
ing, and being disposed to a cheerfulness .... would not be amiss." 

In another, he is found excusing his coming home, being "invited to supper 
to Mr. Boyle's." "Dear Prue," he says on this occasion, "do not send after 
me, for I shall be ridiculous." 

19 



STEELE 

and the next year he presented his wife with a country-house at 
Hampton. It appears she had a chariot and pair, and sometimes 
four horses: he himself enjoyed a little horse for his own riding. 
He paid, or promised to pay, his barber fifty pounds a year, and 
always went abroad in a laced coat and a large black buckled peri- 
wig, that must have cost somebody fifty guineas. He was rather 
a well-to-do gentleman, Captain Steele, with the proceeds of his 
estates in Barbadoes (left to him by his first wife), his incoipe as 
a writer of the Gazette, and his ofiice of gentle-man waiter to his 
Royal Highness Prince George. His second wife brought him a 
fortune too. But it is melancholy to relate, that with these houses 
and chariots and horses and income, the Captain was constantly 
in want of money, for which his beloved bride was asking as con- 
stantly. In the course of a few pages we begin to find the shoe- 
maker calling for money, and some directions from the Captain, 
who has not thirty pounds to spare. He sends his wife," the beauti- 
fullest object in the world," as he calls her, and evidently in reply 
to applications of her own, which have gone the way of all waste 
paper, and lighted Dick's pipes, which were smoked a hundred 
and forty years ago — he sends his wife now a guinea, then a half- 
guinea, then a couple of guineas, then half a poimd of tea; and 
again no money and no tea at all, but a promise that his darling 
Prue shall have some in a day or two: or a request, perhaps, 
that she will send over his night-gown and shaving-plate to the 
temporary lodging where the nomadic Captain is lying, hidden 
from the baiUffs. Oh! that a Christian hero and late Captain in 
Lucas's should be afraid of a dirty sheriff's officer! That the pink 
and pride of chivalry should turn pale before a vnrit! It stands to 
record in poor Dick's own handwriting — the queer collection is 
preserved at the British Museum to this present day — that the 
rent of the nuptial house in Jermyn Street, sacred to unutterable 
tenderness and Prue, and three doors from Bury Street, was not paid 
until after the landlord had put in an execution on Captain Steele's 
furniture. Addison sold the house and furniture at Hampton, and, 
after deducting the sum in which his incorrigible friend was indebted 
to him, handed over the residue of the proceeds of the sale to poor 
Dick, who wasn't in the least angry at Addison's summary proceed- 
ing, and I dare say was very glad of any sale or execution, the result 
of which was to give him a Uttle ready money. Having a small 
house in Jermyn Street for which he couldn't pay, and a country- 



STEELE 

house at Hampton on which he had borrowed money, nothing must 
content Captain Dick but the taking, in 17 12, a much finer, larger, 
and grander house, in Bloomsbury Square; where his unhappy 
landlord got no better satisfaction than his friend in St. James's, 
and where it is recorded that Dick, giving a grand entertainment, 
had a half-dozen queer-looking fellows in Uvery to wait upon his 
noble guests, and confessed that his servants were baihffs to a man. 
"I fared Uke a distressed prince," the kindly prodigal writes, gener- 
ously complimenting Addison for his assistance in the Taller, — "I 
fared Uke a distressed prince, who calls in a powerful neighbor to 
his aid. I was undone by my auxiliary ; when I had once called him 
in, I could not subsist without dependence on him." Poor, needy 
Prince of Bloomsbury! think of him in his palace, with his alhes 
from Chancery Lane ominously guarding him. 

All sorts of stories are told indicative of his recklessness and his 
good humor. One narrated by Dr. Hoadly is exceedingly charac- 
teristic; it shows the hfe of the time: and our poor friend very weak, 
but very kind both in and out of his cups. 

"My father," says Dr. John Hoadly, the Bishop's son, "when 
Bishop of Bangor, was, by invitation, present at one of the Whig 
meetings, held at the 'Trumpet,' in Shire Lane, when Sir Richard, 
in his zeal, rather exposed himself, having the double duty of the 
day upon him, as well to celebrate the immortal memory of King 
William, it being the 4th November, as to drink his friend Addison 
up to conversation pitch, whose phlegmatic constitution was hardly 
warmed for society by that time. Steele was not fit for it. Two 
remarkable circumstances happened. John Sly, the hatter of 
facetious memory, was in the house; and John, pretty mellow, 
took it into his head to come into the company on his knees, with a 
tankard of ale in his hand to drink off to the immortal memory, and 
to return in the same manner. Steele, sitting next my father, 
whispered him — Do laugh. It is humanity to laugh. Sir Richard, 
in the evening, being too much in the same condition, was put into a 
chair, and sent home. Nothing would serve him but being carried 
to the Bishop of Bangor's, late as it was. However, the chairmen 
carried him home, and got him up stairs, when his great complai- 
sance would wait on them down stairs, which he did, and then was 
got quietly to bed." 

There is another amusing story which, I beheve, that renowned 
collector, Mr. Joseph Miller, or his successors, have incorporated 
21 



STEELE 

into their work. Sir Richard Steele, at a time when he was much 
occupied with theatrical affairs, built himself a pretty private 
theatre, and, before it was opened to his friends and guests, was 
anxious to try whether the hall was well adapted for hearing. Ac- 
cordingly he placed himself in the most remote part of the gallery, 
and begged the carpenter who had built the house to speak up from 
the stage. The man at first said that he was unaccustomed to 
public speaking, and did not know what to say to his honor; but 
the good-natured knight called out to him to say whatever was upper- 
most; and, after a moment, the carpenter began, in a voice per- 
fectly audible: "Sir Richard Steele!" he said, "for three months 
past me and my men has been a working in this theatre, and we've 
never seen the color of your honor's money: we will be very much 
obliged if you'll pay it directly, for until you do we won't drive in 
another nail." Sir Richard said that his friend's elocution was 
perfect, but that he didn't like his subject much. 

The great charm of Steele's writing is its naturalness. He wrote 
so quickly and carelessly, that he was forced to make the reader his 
confidant, and had not the time to deceive him. He had a small 
share of book-learning, but a vast acquaintance with the world. 
He had knovm men and taverns. He had lived with gownsmen, 
with troopers, with gentlemen ushers of the Court, with men and 
women of fashion; with authors and wits, with the inmates of the 
spimging-houses, and with the frequenters of all the clubs and coffee- 
houses in the town. He was liked in all company because he liked 
it; and you like to see his enjoyment as you like to see the glee of a 
boxful of children at the pantomime. He was not of those lonely 
ones of the earth whose greatness obliged them to be sohtary; on 
the contrary, he admired, I think, more than any man who ever 
wrote; and full of hearty applause and sympathy, wins upon you 
by calling you to share his delight and good humor. His laugh 
rings through the whole house. He must have been invaluable at 
a tragedy, and have cried as much as the most tender yoimg lady in 
the boxes. He has a relish for beauty and goodness wherever he 
meets it. He admired Shakspeare affectionately, and more than 
any man of his time; and, according to his generous expansive 
nature, called upon all his company to like what he liked himself. 
He did not damn with faint praise: he was in the world and of it; 
and his enjoyment of life presents the strangest contrast to Swift's 



STEELE 

savage indignation and Addison's lonely serenity.* Permit me to 
read to you a passage from each writer, curiously indicative of his 

* Here we have some of his later letters: — 
"To Lady Steele. 

"Hampton Court, March i6, 1716-17. 
" Dear Prue, — If you have written anything to me which I should 
have received last night, I beg your pardon that I cannot answer till the next 
post .... Your son at the present writing is mighty well employed in tum- 
bling on the floor of the room and sweeping the sand with a feather. He grows 
a most dehghtful child, and very full of play and spirit. He is also a very great 
scholar: he can read his primer; and I have brought down my Virgil. He 
makes most shrewd remarks about the pictures. We are very intimate friends 
and playfellows. He begins to be very ragged; and I hope I shall be pardoned 
if I equip him with new clothes and frocks, or what Mrs. Evans and I shall 
think for his service." 

"To Lady Steele. 

[Undated.5 
"You tell me you want a little flattery from me. I assure you I know 
no one who deserves so much commendation as yourself, and to whom saying 
the best things would be so httle Uke flattery. The thing speaks for itself, 
considering you as a very handsome woman that loves retirement — one who 
does not want wit, and yet is extremely sincere; and so I could go through all 
the vices which attend the good quahties of other people, of which you are 
exempt. But, indeed, though you have every perfection, you have an extrava- 
gant fault, which almost frustrates the good in you to me; and that is, that you 
do not love to dress, to appear, to shine out, even at my request, and to make 
me proud of you, or rather to indulge the pride I have that you are mine. . . . 
"Your most affectionate, obsequious husband, 

"Richard Steele. 
"A quarter of Molly's schooUng is paid. The children are perfectly well." 

"To Lady Steele. 

"March 26, 171 7. 
"My Dearest Prue, — I have received yours, wherein you give me 
the sensible affliction of teUing me enow of the continual pain in your head. 
.... When I lay in your place, and on your pillow, I assure you I fell into 
tears last night, to think that my charming little insolent might be then awake 
and in pain; and took it to be a sin to go to sleep. 

"For this tender passion towards you, I must be contented that your 
Prueship will condescend to call yourself my well-vnsher " 

At the time when the above later letters were written, Lady Steele was in 
Wales, looking after her estate there Steele, about this time, was much oc- 
cupied with a project for conveying fish aUve, by which, as he constantly 
assures his wife, he firmly believed he should make his fortune. It did not 
succeed, however. 

Lady Steele died in December of the succeeding year. She lies buried in 
Westminster Abbey. 

23 



STEELE 

peculiar humor: the subject is the same, and the mood the very 
gravest. We have said that upon all the actions of man, the most 
trifling and the most solemn, the humorist takes upon himself to 
comment. All readers of our old masters know the terrible lines of 
Swift, in which he hints at his philosophy and describes the end of 
mankind : — 

" Amazed, confused, its fate unknown, 
The world stood trembling at Jove's throne; 
While each pale sinner hung his head, 
Jove, nodding, shook the heavens and said: 

'Offending race of hviman kind, 
By nature, reason, learning, blind; 
You who through frailty stepped aside, 
And you who never err'd through pride; 
You who in different sects were shamm'd. 
And come to see each other damn'd; 
(So some folk told you, but they knew 
No more of Jove's designs than you;) 
The world's mad business now is o'er, 
And I resent your freaks no more; 
/ to such blockheads set my wit, 
I damn such fools — go, go, you're bit!'" 

Addison, speaking on the very same theme, but with how differ- 
ent a voice, says, in his famous paper on Westminster Abbey {Spec- 
tator, No. 26): — "For my own part, though I am always serious, 
I do not know what it is to be melancholy, and can therefore take a 
view of nature in her deep and solemn scenes with the same pleas- 
ure as in her most gay and delightful ones. When I look upon the 
tombs of the great, every emotion of envy dies within me ; when I 
read the epitaphs of the beautiful, every inordinate desire goes out ; 
when I meet with the grief of parents on a tombstone, my heart 
melts with compassion ; when I see the tomb of the parents them- 
selves, I consider the vanity of grieving for those we must quickly 
follow." (I have owned that I do not think Addison's heart melted 
very much, or that he indulged very inordinately in the " vanity of 
grieving.") "When," he goes on, "when I see kings lying by those 
who deposed them : when I consider rival wits placed side by side, 
or the holy men that divided the world with their contests and dis- 
putes, — I reflect with sorrow and astonishment on the httle com- 
petitions, factions, and debates of mankind. And, when I read 
the several dates on the tombs of some that died yesterday and 
24 



STEELE 

some 600 years ago, I consider that Great Day when we shall all of 
us be contemporaries, and make our appearance together." 

Our third humorist comes to speak upon the same subject. You 
will have observed in the previous extracts the characteristic humor 
of each writer — the subject and the contrast — the fact of Death, 
and the play of individual thought, by which each comments on it, 
and now hear the third writer — death, sorrow, and the grave being 
for the moment also his theme. " The first sense of sorrow I ever 
knew," Steele says in the Taller, "was upon the death of my father, 
at which time I was not quite five years of age: but was rather 
amazed at what all the house meant, than possessed of a real under- 
standing why nobody would play with us. I remember I went 
into the room where his body lay, and my mother sat weeping 
alone by it. I had my battledore in my hand, and fell a beating the 
coffin, and calling papa; for, I know not how, I had some idea that 
he was locked up there. My mother caught me in her arms, and, 
transported beyond all patience of the silent grief she was before in, 
she almost smothered me in her embraces, and told me in a flood of 
tears, ' Papa could not hear me, and would play with me no more : 
for they were going to put him under groimd, whence he would never 
come to us again.' She was a very beautiful woman, of a noble 
spirit, and there was a dignity in her grief amidst all the wildness 
of her transport, which methought struck me with an instinct of 
sorrow that, before I was sensible what it was to grieve, seized my 
very soul, and has made pity the weakness of my heart ever since." 

Can there be three more characteristic moods of minds and men ? 
"Fools, do you know anything of this mystery?" says Swift, stamp- 
ing on a grave, and carrying his scorn for mankind actually beyond 
it. "Miserable, purblind wretches, how dare you to pretend to 
comprehend the Inscrutable, and how can your dim eyes pierce the 
unfathomable depths of yonder boundless heaven?" Addison, in 
a much kinder language and gentler voice, utters much the same 
sentiment: and speaks of the rivalry of wits, and the contests of 
holy men, with the same sceptic placidity. "Look what a Uttle 
vain dust we are," he says, smiling over the tombstones; and catch- 
ing, as is his wont, quite a divine effulgence as he looks heavenward, 
he speaks, in words of inspiration almost, of "the Great Day, 
when we shall aU of us be contemporaries, and make our appear- 
ance together." 

The third, whose theme is death, too, and who will speak his 

25 



STEELE 

word of moral as Heaven teaches him, leads you up to his father's 
coffin, and shows you his beautiful mother weeping, and himself an 
unconscious little boy wondering at her side. His own natural 
tears flow as he takes your hand and confidingly asks your sym- 
pathy. "See how good and innocent and beautiful women are," 
he says; "how tender little children! Let us love these and one 
another, brother — God knows we have need of love and pardon." 
So it is each man looks with his own eyes, speaks with his own 
voice, and prays his own prayer. 

When Steele asks your sympathy for the actors in that charming 
scene of Love and Grief and Death, who can refuse it ? One yields 
to it as to the frank advance of a child, or to the appeal of a woman. 
A man is seldom more manly than when he is what you call un- 
manned — the source of his emotion is championship, pity, and 
courage; the instinctive desire to cherish those who are innocent 
and tmhappy, and defend those who are tender and weak. If 
Steele is not our friend he is nothing. He is by no means the most 
brilliant of wits nor the deepest of thinkers: but he is our friend; 
we love him, as children love their love with an A, because he is 
amiable. Who likes a man best because he is the cleverest or the 
wisest of mankind; or a woman because she is the most virtuous, 
or talks French, or plays the piano better than the rest of her sex ? 
I own to liking Dick Steele the man, and Dick Steele the author, 
much better than much better men and much better authors. 

The misfortune regarding Steele is, that most part of the com- 
pany here present must take his amiability upon hearsay, and cer- 
tainly can't make his intimate acquaintance. Not that Steele 
was worse than his time; on the contrary, a far better, truer, and 
higher-hearted man than most who lived in it. Bat things were 
done in that society, and names were named, which would make 
you shudder now. What would be the sensation of a polite youth 
of the present day, if at a ball he saw the young object of his affec- 
tions taking a box out of her pocket and a pinch of snuff; or if at 
dinner, by the charmer's side, she deliberately put her knife into 
her mouth ? If she cut her mother's throat with it, mamma would 
scarcely be more shocked, I allude to these peculiarities of bygone 
times as an excuse for my favorite, Steele, who was not worse, and 
often much more delicate than his neighbors. 

Thexe exists a curious document descriptive of the manners of 
the last age, which describes most minutely the amusements and 
26 



STEELE 

occupations of persons of fashion in London at the time of which 
we are speaking; the time of Swift, and Addison, and Steele. 

When Lord Sparkish, Tom Neverout, and Colonel Alwit, the 
immortal personages of Swift's polite conversation, came to break- 
fast with my Lady Smart, at eleven o'clock in the morning, my 
Lord Smart was absent at the levee. His lordship was at home 
to dinner at three o'clock to receive his guests; and we may sit 
dovm to this meal, like the Barmecide's, and see the fops of the 
last century before us. Seven of them sat down at dinner, and 
were joined by a coimtry baronet who told them they kept court 
hoiirs. These persons of fashion began their dinner with a sirloin 
of beef, fish, a shoulder of veal, and a tongue. My Lady Smart 
carved the sirloin, my Lady Answerall helped the fish, and the 
gallant Colonel cut the shoulder of veal. All made a considerable 
inroad on the sirloin and the shoulder of veal with the exception 
of Sir John, who had no appetite, having already partaken of a 
beefsteak and two mugs of ale, besides a tankard of March beer 
as soon as he got out of bed. They drank claret, which the master 
of the house said should always be drunk after fish; and my Lord 
Smart particularly recommended some excellent cider to my Lord 
Sparkish, which occasioned some brilliant remarks from that 
nobleman. When the host called for wine, he nodded to one or 
other ot his guests, and said, "Tom Neverout, my service to you." 

After the first course came almond -pudding, fritters, which the 
Colonel took with his hands out of the dish, in order to help the 
brilliant Miss Notable; chickens, black puddings, and soup; and 
Lady Smart, the elegant mistress of the mansion, finding a skewer 
in a dish, placed it in her plate with the directions that it should 
be carried down to the cook and dressed for the cook's own dinner. 
Wine and small beer were drunk during this second course; and 
when the Colonel called for beer, he called the butler Friend, and 
asked whether the beer was good. Various jocular remarks passed 
from the gentlefolks to the servants; at breakfast several persons 
had a word and a joke for Mrs. Betty, my lady's maid, who warmed 
the cream and had charge of the canister (the tea cost thirty shil- 
lings a pound in those days). When my Lady Sparkish sent her 
footman out to my Lady Match to come at six o'clock and play at 
quadrille, her ladyship warned the man to follow his nose, and if 
he fell by the way not to stay to get up again. And when the 
gentleman asked the hall-porter if his lady was at home, that func- 

27 



STEELE 

tionan' replied, with manly waggishness, " She was at home just 
now, but she's not gone out yet." 

After the puddings, sweet and black, the fritters and soup, 
came the third course, of which the chief dish was a hot venison 
pasty, which was put before Lord Smart, and carved by that noble- 
man. Besides the pasty, there was a hare, a rabbit, some pigeons, 
partridges, a goose, and a ham. Beer and wine were freely imbibed 
during this com^e, the gentlemen always pledging somebody with 
every glass which they drank; and by this time the conversation 
between Tom Neverout and Miss Notable had grown so brisk and 
lively, that the Derbyshire baronet began to think the young gentle- 
woman was Tom's sweetheart; on which Miss remarked, that she 
loved Tom "like pie." After the goose, some of the gentlemen 
took a dram of brandy, "which was very good for the wholesomes," 
Sir John said; and now ha\'ing had a tolerably substantial dinner, 
honest Lord Smart bade the butler bring up the great tankard full 
of October to Sir John. The great tankard was passed from hand 
to hand and mouth to mouth, but when pressed by the noble 
host upon the gallant Tom Neverout, he said, "No, faith, my 
lord; I like your wine, and won't put a churl upon a gentleman. 
Your honor's claret is good enough for me." And so, the dinner 
over, the host said, "Hang sa\-ing, bring up us a ha'porth of cheese." 

The cloth was now taken away, and a bottle of burgundy was 
set down, of which the ladies were in^•ited to partake before they 
went to their tea. ^^^len they -oithdrew, the gentlemen promised 
to join them in an hour: fresh bottles were brought; the "dead 
men," meaning the empty bot'tles, removed; and " D'you hear, 
John? bring clean glasses," my Lord Smart said. On which the 
gallant Colonel Alwit said, "I'll keep my glass; for wine is the best 
Uquor to wash glasses in." 

After an hour the gentlemen joined the ladies, and then they 
all sat and played quadrille until three o'clock in the morning, 
when the chairs and the flambeaux came, and this noble company 
went to bed. 

Such were manners six or seven score years ago. I draw no 
inference from this queer pictiu-e — let all moraUsts here present 
deduce their own. Fancy the moral condition of that societ}^ in 
which a lady of fashion joked ^^-ith a footman, and car\-ed a sirloin, 
and pronded besides a great shoulder of veal, a goose, hare, rabbit, 
chickens, partridges, black puddings, and a ham for a dinner for eight 
28 



STEELE 

Christians. What — what could have been the condition of that 
poHte world in which people openly ate goose after almond-pudding, 
and took their soup in the middle of dinner ? Fancy a Colonel in 
the Guards putting his hand into a dish of beignets d'abricot, and 
helping his neighbor, a young lady du monde I Fancy a noble lord 
calling out to the servants, before the ladies at his table, "Hang 
expense, bring up a ha'porth of cheese!" Such were the ladies 
of Saint James's — such were the frequenters of " White's Choco- 
late-House," when Swift used to visit it, and Steele described it as 
the centre of pleasure, gallantry, and entertainment, a hundred 
and forty years ago! 

Dennis, who ran amuck at the literary society of his day, falls 
foul of poor Steele, and thus depicts him: — "Sir John Edgar, of 

the county of in Ireland, is of a middle statvu-e, broad shoulders, 

thick legs, a shape like the picture of somebody over a farmer's 
chimney — a short chin, a short nose, a short forehead, a broad 
flat face, and a dusky countenance. Yet with such a face and 
such a shape, he discovered at sixty that he took himself for a 
beauty, and appeared to be more mortified at being told that he 
was ugly, than he was by any reflection made upon his honor or 
understanding. 

"He is a gentleman bom, witness himself, of very honorable 
family; certainly of a very ancient one, for his ancestors flourished 
in Tipperary long before the English ever set foot in Ireland. He 
has testimony of this more authentic than the Herald's Ofl&ce, 
or any human testimony. For God has marked him more abim- 
dantly than he did Cain, and stamped his native country on his 
face, his understanding, his writings, his actions, his passions, and, 
above aU, his vanity. The Hibernian brogue is still upon all these, 
though long habit and length of days have worn it off his tongue." 

Although this portrait is the work of a man who was neither the 
friend of Steele nor of any other man alive, yet there is a dreadful 
resemblance to the original in the savage and exaggerated traits 
of the caricature, and everybody who knows him must recognize 
Dick Steele. Dick set about almost all the imdertakings of his 
life with inadequate means, and, as he took and furnished a house 
with the most generous intentions towards his friends, the most 
tender gallantry towards his wife, and with this only drawback, 
that he had not wherewithal to pay the rent when quarter-day 
came, — so, in his life he proposed to himself the most magnificent 
29 



STEELE 

schemes of \-irtue, forbearance, public and private good, and the 
ad\-an cement of his own and the national religion; but when he 
had to pay for these articles — so difficult to purchase and so costl\- 
to maintain — poor Dick's money was not forthcoming: and when 
\"irtue called ^^-ith her Uttle bill, Dick made a shuffling excuse that 
he could not see her that morning, ha\ing a headache from being 
tipsy over-night; or when stem Duty rapped at the door '^■ith his 
accoimt, Dick was absent and not ready to pay. He was shirk- 
ing at the tavern; or had some particular business (of somebody's 
else) at the ordinary- : or he was in hiding, or worse than in hiding, 
in the lock-up house. \Miat a situation for a man ! — for a philan- 
thropist — for a lover of right and truth — for a magnificent de- 
signer and schemer! Not to dare to look in the face the Rehgion 
which he adored and which he had offended: to have to shirk dov^-n 
back lanes and alleys, so as to avoid the friend whom he loved and 
who had trusted him; to have the house, which he had intended 
for his wife, whom he loved passionately, and for her ladyship's 
company which he wished to entertain splendidly, in the posses- 
sion of a baihff's man ; with a crowd of Uttle creditors, — grocers, 
butchers, and small-coal men — lingering roimd the door with 
their bills and jeering at him. Alas! for poor Dick Steele! For 
nobody else, of course. There is no man or woman in our time 
who makes fine projects and gives them up from idleness or want 
of means. When Dut\- calls upon us, we no doubt are always at 
home and ready to pay that grim tax-gatherer. "\Mien we are 
stricken with remorse and promise reform, we keep our promise, 
and are never angry, or idle, or extravagant any more. There are 
no chambers in our hearts, destined for family friends and ac- 
tions, and now occupied by some Sin's emissary and baihff in pos- 
session. There are no Uttle sins, shabby peccadilloes, importimate 
remembrances, or disappointed holders of our promises to reform, 
hovering at our steps, or knocking at o\ir door! Of course not. 
We are U%ing in the nineteenth century; and poor Dick Steele 
stumbled and got up again, and got into jaU and out again, and 
sinned and repented, and loved and suffered, and Uved and died, 
scores of years ago. Peace be with him! Let us think gently of 
one who was so gentle: let us speak kindly of one whose own breast 
exuberated with human kindness. 



THE TATLER 



THE TATLER 



I 



MR. BICKERSTAFF ON HIMSELF 

No. 89.] THURSDAY, November 3, 1709. [Steele.] 

Rura mihi placeant, riguique in evallibus amnes, 

Flumina amem sylvasque inglorius 

ViRG. Georg. ii. 485. 

My next desire is, void of care and strife, 
To lead a soft, secure, inglorious life: 
A country cottage near a crystal flood, 
A winding valley, and a lofty wood. 

HAVE received this short epistle from an unknown hand. 



" Sir, — I have no more to trouble you with, than to desire you 
would in your next help me to some answer to the inclosed concern- 
ing yourself. In the mean time I congratulate you upon the in- 
crease of your fame, which you see has extended itself beyond the 
bills of mortality." 

" Sir, — That the country is barren of news has been the excuse, 
time out of mind, for dropping a correspondence with our friends 
in London ; as if it were impossible out of a coffee-house to write 
an agreeable letter. I am too ingenuous to endeavour at the 
covering of my negligence \vith so common an excuse. Doubtless, 
amongst friends, bred, as we have been, to the knowledge of books 
as well as men, a letter dated from a garden, a grotto, a fountain, a 
wood, a meadow, or the banks of a river, may be more entertaining 
than one from Tom's, Will's, White's, or Saint James's. I promise, 
therefore, to be frequent for the future in my rural dates to you. 
But for fear you should, from what I have said, be induced to believe 
I shun the commerce of men, I must inform you, that there is a 
fresh topic of discourse lately arisen amongst the ingenious in our 

32 



THE TATLEK 

pan of the -world, and is become the more fashionable for the ladies 
gi-nng into it. This we owe to Isaac BickerstafF, who is very much 
censured bvsome, and as much justified by others. Some criticise 
his style, his humour, and his maner; others admire the whole man. 
Some pretend, from the informations of their friends in town, to de- 
cypher the author; and otheis confess they are lost in their guesses. 
For my part, I must own myself a professed admirer of the paper, 
and desire you to send me a complete set, together with your 
thoughts of the squire and his lucubrations." 

There is no pleasure hke that of recei\-ing praise from the praise- 
worthy; and I own it a very soHd happiness, that these my lucubra- 
tions are approved by a person of so fine a taste as the author of this 
letter, who is capable of enjoying the world in the simplicity of its 
natural beauties. This pastoral letter, if I may so call it, must be 
written by a man who carries his entertainment wherever he goes, 
and is undoubtedly one of those happy men who appear far other- 
wise to the vulgar. I dare say. he is not en^-ied by the -vicious, the 
vain, the frolic, and the loud; but is continually blessed with that 
strong and serious dehght. which flows from a weU-taught and 
liberal mind. With great respea to country sports, I may say, this 
gentleman could pass his time agreeably, if there were not a hare or 
a fox in his county. That calm and elegant satisfaaion which the 
vulgar call melancholy is the true and proper dehght of men of 
knowledge and virtue. What we take for diversion, which is a 
kiDd of forgetting ourselves, is but a mean way of entertainment, 
in comparison of that which is considering, kno-wing, and enjo}-ing 
ourselves. The pleasures of ordinary people are in their passions; 
but the seat of this deh^t is in the reason and understanding. 
Such a frame of mind raises that sweet enthusiasm, which warms 
the imagination at the sight of even." work of nature, and turns all 
round you into a picture and landscape. I shall be ever proud of 
ad%ice5 from this gentleman; for I profess -writing news from the 
learned, as well as the busy world. 

As for my labours, which he is pleased to inquire after, if they 
can but wear one impertinence out of human life, destroy a single 
-vice, or give a morning's cheerfulness to an honest mind ; in short, 
if the world can be but one %-irtue the better, or in any degree less 
vicious, or receive from them the smallest addition to their innocent 
di-s^rsions; I shall not think my pains, or indeed my life, to have 
been ^nt m -vain. 

34 



THE TATLER 

Thus far as to my studies. It will be expected I should in the 
next place give some account of my life. I shall therefore, for the 
satisfaction of the present age, and the benefit of posterity, present 
the world with the following abridgement of it. 

It is remarkable, that I was bred by hand, and eat nothing but 
milk until I was a twelve -month old ; from which time, to the eighth 
year of my ge, I was observed to dehght in pudding and potatoes; 
and indeed I retain a benevolence for that sort of food to this day. 
I do not remember that I distinguished myself in any thing at those 
years, but by my great skill at taw, for which I was so barbarously 
used, that it has ever since given me an aversion to gaming. In 
my twelfth year, I suffered very much for tw^o or three false con- 
cords. At fifteen I was sent to the university, and staid there for 
some time ; but a drum passing by, being a lover of music, I inlisted 
myself for a soldier. As years came on, I began to examine things, 
and grew discontented at the times. This made me quit the sword, 
and take to the study of the occult sciences, in which I was so 
wrapped up, that Oliver Cromwell had been buried, and taken up 
again, five years before I heard he was dead. This gave me first 
the reputation of a conjurer, which has been of great disadvantage 
to me ever since, and kept me out of aU public employments. The 
greater part of my later years has been dinded between Dick's 
coffee-house, the Trumpet in Sheer-lane, and my owti lodgings. 



MEMORIES OF HIS CHILDHOOD 



No. i8i.] TUESDAY, June 6, 17 lo. [Steele.] 

Dies, ni fallor, adest, quem semper acerbum, 

Semper honoratum, sic dii voluistis habebo. 

ViRG. ^jS. v. 49. 

And now the rising day renews the year, 
A day for ever sad, for ever dear. 

THERE are those among mankind, who can enjoy no relish of 
their being, except the world is made acquainted with aU that 
relates to them, and think every thing lost that passes imobserv'ed; 

35 



THE TATLER 

but others find a solid delight in stealing by the crowd, and model- 
ling their life after such a manner, as is as much above the appro- 
bation as the practice of the vulgar. Life being too short to give 
instances great enough of true friendship or gotxl will, some sages 
have thought it pious to preserve a certain reverence for the Manes 
of their deceased friends; and have withcirawn themselves from 
the rest of the world at certain seasons, to commemorate in their 
own thoughts such of their acquaintance who have gone before 
them out of this life. And indeed, when we are advanced in years, 
there is not a more pleasing entertainment, than to recollect in a 
gloomy moment the many we have parted with, that have been dear 
and agreeable to us, and to cast a melancholy thought or two after 
those, with whom, perhaps, we have indulged ourselves in whole 
nights of mirth and jollity. With such inclinations in my heart 
I went to my closet yesterday in the evening, and resolved to be 
sorrowful; upon which occasion I could not but look with disdain 
upon myself, that though all the reasons which I had to lament the 
loss of many of my friends are now as forcible as at the moment 
of their departure, yet did not my heart swell with the same sorrow 
which I felt at that time; but I could, without tears, retlect upon 
many pleasing adventures I have had with some, who have long 
been blended with common earth. 

Though it is by the benefit of natiu-e, that length of time thus 
blots out the violence of afflictions; yet with tempers too much 
given to pleasure, it is almost necessary to revive the old places 
of grief in our memory; and ponder step by step on past life, to 
lead the mind into that sobriety of thought which poises the heart, 
and makes it beat with due time, without being quickened with 
desire, or retarded with despair, from its proj^er and equal motion. 
When we wind up a clock that is out of order, to make it go well 
for the futiuT,-we do not immediately set the hand to the present 
instant, but we make it strike the round of all its hoiu^, before it 
can recover the regularity of its time. Such, thought I. shall be my 
method this evening; and since it is that day of the year which 
I dedicate to the memory of such in another life as I much delighted 
in when living, an hour or two shall be sacred to sorrow and their 
memory, while I run over all the melancholy circumstances of this 
kind which ha\e occurred to me in my whole life. The first sense 
of sorrow I ever knew was upon the death of my father at which 
time I was not quite five years of age; but was rather amazed at 
..0 



THE TATLER 

what all the house meant, than possessed with a real understand- 
ing why nobody was willing to play with me. I remember I went 
into the room where his body lay, and my mother sat weeping alone 
by it. I had my battledore in my hand, and fell a-beating the 
coffin, and calling papa; for, I know not how, I had some sUght idea 
that he was locked up there. My mother catched me in her arms, 
and, transported beyond all patience of the silent grief she was 
before in, she almost smothered me in her embraces; and told me, 
in a flood of tears, " Papa could not hear me, and would play with 
me no more, for they were going to put him under ground, whence 
he could never come to us again." She was a very beautiful woman, 
of a noble spirit, and there was a dignity in her grief amidst all the 
wildness of her transport, which, methought, struck me with an 
instinct of sorrow, that, before I was sensible of what it was to 
grieve, seized my very soul, and has made pity the weakness of my 
heart ever since. The mind in infancy is, methinks, like the body 
in embryo, and receives impressions so forcible, that they are as 
hard to be removed by reason, as any mark, with which a child 
is bom, is to be taken away by any future application. Hence 
it is, that good-nature in me is no merit; but havmg been so fre- 
quently overwhelmed with her tears before I knew the cause of 
any affliction, or could draw defences from my own judgment. 
I imbibed commiseration, remorse, and an unmanly gentleness 
of mind, which have since insnared me into ten thousand calami- 
ties; from whence I can reap no advantage, except it be, that, in 
such a humour as I am now in, I can the better indulge myself 
in the softnesses of humanity, and enjoy that sweet anxiety which 
arises from the memory oi past afflictions. 

We, that are very old, are better able to remember things which 
befel us in our distant youth, than the passages of later days. For 
this reason it is, that the companions of my strong and vigorous 
years present themselves more immediately to me in this office of 
sorrow. Untimely and unhappy deaths are what we are most apt 
to lament; so little are we able to make it indiflferent when a thing 
happens, though we know it must happen. Thus we groan under 
life, and bewail those who are relieved from it. Every object that 
returns to our imagination raises different passions, according to 
the circumstances of their departure. Who can have Lived in an 
army, and in a serious hour reflect upon the many gay and agree- 
able men that might long have flourished in the arts of peace, and 

37 



THE TATLER 

not join with the imprecations of the fatherless and widow on the 
tyrant to whose ambition they fell sacrifices? But gallant men, 
who are cut off by the sword, move rather our veneration than our 
pity ; and we gather relief enough from their own contempt of death, 
to make that no evil, which was approached with so much cheer- 
fulness, and attended with so much honour. But when we turn our 
thoughts from the great parts of life on such occasions, and instead 
of lamenting those who stood ready to give death to those from 
whom they had the fortune to receive it; I say, when we let our 
thoughts wander from such noble objects, and consider the havock 
which is made among the tender and the innocent, pity enters with 
an unmixed softness, and possesses all our souls at once. 

Here (were there words to express such sentiments with proper 
tenderness) I should record the beauty, innocence and untimely 
death, of the first object my eyes ever beheld with love. The beau- 
teous virgin! how ignorantly did she charm, how carelessly excel! 
Oh Death! thou hast right to the bold, to the ambitious, to the high, 
and to the haughty; but why this cruelty to the humble, to the meek, 
to the undiscerning, to the thoughtless? Nor age, nor business, 
nor distress, can erase the dear image from my imagination. In 
the same week, I saw her dressed for a ball, and in a shroud. How 
ill did the habit of death become the pretty trifler ? I still behold 

the smiUng earth A large train of disasters were coming on to 

my memory, when my servant knocked at my closet-door, and 
interrupted me with a letter, attended with a hamper of wine, of the 
same sort with that which is to be put to sale, on Thursday next, at 
Garraway's coffee-house. Upon the receipt of it, I sent for three 
of my friends. We are so intimate, that we can be company in 
whatever state of mind we meet, and can entertain each other with- 
out expecting always to rejoice. The wine we found to be generous 
and warming, but with such an heat as moved us rather to be 
cheerful than frolicksome. It revived the spirits, without firing the 
blood. We commended it until two of the clock this morning; and 
having to-day met a little before dinner, we found, that though we 
drank two bottles a man, we had much more reason to recollect than 
forget what had passed the night before. 



38 



THE TATLER 

A VISIT TO A FRIEND 
No. 95.9 THURSDAY, November 17, 1709. [Steele.] 

Interea dulces pendent circum oscula nati. 

Casta pudicitiam servat domus 

ViRG. Georg. ii. 523. 

His cares are eas'd with intei-vals of bliss; 
His little children, climbing for a kiss, 
Welcome their father's late return at night; 
His faithful bed is crown'd with chaste delight. 

THERE are several persons who have many pleasures and en- 
tertainments in their possession, v^^hich they do not enjoy. It 
is, therefore, a kind and good office to acquaint them with their own 
happiness, and turn their attention to such instances of their good 
fortune as they are apt to overlook. Persons in the married state 
often want such a monitor; and pine away their days, by looking 
upon the same condition in anguish and murmur, which carries 
with it in the opinion of others a complication of all the pleasures of 
Hfe, and a retreat from its inquietudes. 

I am led into this thought by a visit I made an old friend, who 
was formerly my schoolfellow. He came to town last week with his 
family for the winter, and yesterday morning sent me word his wife 
expected me to dinner. I am as it were at home at that house, and 
every member of it knows me for their well-wisher. I cannot indeed 
express the pleasure it is, to be met by the children with so much joy 
as I am when I go thither. The boys and girls strive who shall 
come first, when they think it is I that am knocking at that door; 
and that child which loses the race to me runs back again to tell the 
father it is Mr. Bickerstaff. This day I was led in by a pretty girl, 
that we all thought must have forgot me; for the family has been 
out of town these two years. Her knowing me again was a 
mighty subject with us, and took up our discourse at the first en- 
trance. After which, they began to rally me upon a thousand little 
stories they heard in the country, about my marriage to one of my 
neighbour's daughters. Upon which the gentleman, my friend 
said, " Nay, if IMr. Bickerstaff marries a child of any of his old com- 
panions, I hope mine shall have the preference ; there is Mrs. Mary 

39 



THE TATLER 

is now sixteen, and would make him as fine a widow as the best of 
them. But I know him too well ; he is so enamoured with the very 
memory of those who flourished in our youth, that he will not so 
much as look upon the modern beauties. I remember, old gentle- 
man, how often you went home in a day to refresh your counte- 
nance and dress, when Teraminta reigned in your heart. As we 
came up in the coach, I repeated to my wife some of your verses on 
her." 

With such reflections on Uttle passages which happened long ago, 
we passed our time, during a cheerful and elegant meal. After 
dinner, his lady left the room, as did also the children. As soon 
as we were alone, he took me by the hand ; " Well, my good friend," 
says he, "I am heartily glad to see thee; I was afraid you would 
never have seen all the company that dined with you to-day 
again. Do not you think the good woman of the house a httle 
altered, since you followed her from the play-house to find out who 
she was for me?" I perceived a tear fall down his cheek as he 
spoke, which moved me not a httle. But, to turn the discourse, I 
said, " She is not indeed quite that creature she was, when she re- 
turned me the letter I carried from you; and told me, 'she hoped, 
as I was a gentleman, I would be employed no more to trouble her, 
who had never offended me; but would be so much the gentleman's 
friend as to dissuade him from a pursuit, which he could never 
succeed in.' You may remember, I thought her in earnest; and 
you were forced to employ your cousin Will, who made his sister 
get acquainted with her, for you. You cannot expect her to be for 
ever fifteen." — "Fifteen!" rephed my good friend: "Ah! you 
httle understand, you that have Uved a bachelor, how great, how 
exquisite a pleasure there is, in being really beloved ! It is impossi- 
ble, that the most beauteous face in nature should raise in me such 
pleasing ideas, as when I look upon that excellent woman. That 
fading in her countenance is chiefly caused by her watching with 
me, in my fever. This was followed by a fit of sickness, which had 
like to have carried her off last winter. I tell you sincerely, I have 
so many obligations to her, that I cannot, with any sort of modera- 
tion, think of her present state of health. But as to what you say 
of fifteen, she gives me every day pleasures beyond what I ever knew 
in the possession of her beauty, when I was in the vigour of youth. 
Every moment of her Hfe brings me fresh instances of her compla- 
cency to my inclinations, and her prudence in regard to my fortune. 
40 



THE TATLER 

Her -face is to me much more beautiful than when I first saw it; 
there is no decay in any feature, which I cannot trace, from the very 
instant it was occasioned by some anxious concern for my welfare 
and interests. Thus, at the same time, methinks, the love I con- 
ceived towards her for what she was is heightened by my gratitude 
for what she is. The love of a wife is as much ab6ve the idle passion 
commonly called by that name, as the loud laughter of buffoons is 
inferior to the elegant mirth of gentlemen. Oh! she is an inestim- 
able jewel. In her examination of her household affairs, she shews 
a certain fearfulness to find a fault, which makes her servants obey 
her like children ; and the meanest we have has an ingenuous shame 
for an offence, not always to be seen in children in other famihes. 
I speak freely to you, my old friend; ever since her sickness, things 
that gave me the quickest joy before turn now to a certain anxiety. 
As the children play in the next room, I know the poor things by 
their steps, and am considering what they must do, should they lose 
their mother in their tender years. The pleasure I used to take in 
telUng my boy stories of battles, and asking my girl questions about 
the disposal of her baby, and the gossiping of it, is turned into in- 
ward reflection and melancholy." 

He would have gone on in this tender way, when the good lady 
entered, and with an inexpressible sweetness in her countenance 
told us, "she had been searching her closet for something very good, 
to treat such an old friend as I was." Her husband's eyes sparkled 
with pleasure at the cheerfulness of her countenance; and I saw all 
his fears vanish in an instant. The lady observing something in 
our looks which shewed we had been more serious than ordinary, 
and seeing her husband receive lier with great concern under 
a forced cheerfulness, immediately guessed at what we had been 
talking of; and applying herself to me, said, with a smile, "Mr. 
Bickerstaff, do not beHeve a word of what he tells you; I shall still 
live to have you for my second, as I have often promised you, unless 
he takes more care of himself than he has done since his coming to 
town. You must know, he tells me that he finds London is a much 
more healthy place than the country; for he sees several of his old 
acquaintance and schoolfellows are here young fellows with fair full- 
bottomed periwigs. I could scarce keep him this morning from going 
out open breasted^ My friend, who is always extremely delighted 
v.'ith her agreeable humour, made her sit down with us. She did 
it with that easiness which is peculiar to women of sense; and, to 

41 



THE TATLER 

keep up the good humour she had brought in with her, turned her 
raillery upon me. "Mr. Bickerstaff, you remember you followed 
me one night from the play-house; suppose you should carry me 
thither to-morrow night, and lead me into the front-box." This 
put us into a long field of discourse about the beauties, who were 
mothers to the present, and shined in the boxes twenty years ago. 
I told her, " I was glad she had transferred so many of her charms, 
and I did not question but her eldest daughter was within half a 
year of being a Toast." 

We were pleasing ourselves with this fantastical preferment of 
the young lady, when on a sudden we were alarmed with the noise 
of a drum, and immediately entered my little godson to give me a 
point of war. His mother, between laughing and chiding, would 
have put him out of the room; but I would not part with him so. 
I found upon conversation with him, though he was a little noisy 
in his mirth, that the child had excellent parts, and was a great 
master of all the learning on the other side eight years old. I 
perceived him a very great historian in iEsop's Fables; but he 
frankly declared to me his mind, "that he did not delight in that 
learning, because he did not believe they were true"; for which 
reason I found he had very much turned his studies, for about a 
twelve-month past, into the lives and adventures of don Bellianis 
of Greece, Guy of Warwick, the Seven Champions, and other 
historians of that age. I could not but observe the satisfaction 
the father took in the forwardness of his son ; and that these diver- 
sions might tiirn to some profit, I found the boy had made remarks, 
which might be of service to him during the course of his whole 
Ufe. He would. tell you the mismanagements of John Hickathrift, 
find fault with the passionate temper in Bevis of Southampton, and 
loved Saint George for being the champion of England; and by 
this means had his thoughts insensibly moulded into the notions 
of discretion, virtue, and honoiu". I was extolling his accomplish- 
ments, when the mother told me, "that the little girl who led me in 
this morning was in her way a better scholar than he. Betty," 
says she, "deals chiefly in fairies and sprights; and sometimes in 
a winter-night will terrify the maids with her accoimts, imtil they 
are afraid to go up to bed." 

I sat with them until it was very late, sometimes in merry, some- 
times in serious discourse, with this particular pleasure, which gives 
the only true relish to all conversation, a sense that every one of 
42 



• THE TATLER 

us liked each other. I went home, considering the different con- 
ditions of a married life and that of a bachelor; and I must confess 
it struck me with a secret concern, to reflect, that whenever I go off 
I shall leave no traces behind me. 



DUELLING 

No. 25.] TUESDAY, June 7, 1709. [Steele.] 

A LETTER from a young lady, written in the most passionate 
terms, wherein she laments the misfortune of a gentleman, 
her lover, who was lately wounded in a duel, has turned my thoughts 
to that subject, and inclined me to examine into the causes which 
precipitate men into so fatal a folly. And as it has been proposed 
to treat of subjects of gallantry in the article from hence, and no 
one point in nature is more proper to be considered by the com- 
pany who frequent this place than that of duels, it is worth our 
consideration to examine into this chimerical groundless humour, 
and to lay every other thought aside, imtil we have stripped it of 
all its false pretences to credit and reputation amongst men. 

But I must confess, when I consider what I am going about, and 
run over in my imagination all the endless crowd of men of honour 
who will be offended at such a discourse; I am undertaking, me- 
thinks, a work worthy an invulnerable hero in romance, rather 
than a private gentleman with a single rapier: but as I am pretty 
well acquainted by great opportunities with the nature of man, 
and know of a truth that all men fight against their will, the danger 
vanishes, and resolution rises upon this subject. For this reason, 
I shall talk very freely on a custom which all men wish exploded, 
though no man has courage enough to resist it. 

But there is one unintelligible word, which I fear will extremely 
perplex my dissertation, and I confess to you I find very hard to 
explain, which is the term "satisfaction." An honest country 
gentleman had the misfortime to fall into company with two or 
three modem men of honour, where he happened to be very ill- 
treated; and one of the company, being conscious of his offence 
sends a note to him in the morning, and tells him, he was ready 

43 



THE TATLER 

to give him satisfaction. "This is fine doing," says the plain 
fellow; "last night he sent me away cursedly out of humour, and 
this morning he fancies it would be a satisfaction to be rim through 
the body." 

As the matter at present stands, it is not to do handsome actions 
denominates a man of honour; it is enough if he dares to defend 
ill ones. Thus you often see a common sharper in competition 
with a gentleman of the first rank; though all mankind is con\-inced, 
that a fighting gamester is only a pickpocket with the courage of 
an highwa}-man. One cannot with any patience reflect on the 
unaccountable jumble of persons and things in this town and 
nation, which occasions very frequently, that a brave man falls 
by a hand below that of a common hangman, and yet his execu- 
tioner escapes the clutches of the hangman for doing it . I shall 
therefore hereafter consider, how the bravest men in other ages 
and nations have behaved themselves upon such incidents as we 
decide by combat; and shew, from their practice, that this resent- 
ment neither has its foundation from true reason or soUd fame; 
but is an imposture, made of cowardice, falsehood, and want of 
understanding. For this wcrk, a good histor}' of quarrels would 
be very edif\-ing to the pubHc, and I apply myself to the town for 
particulars and circumstances within their knowledge, which may 
serve to embellish the dissertation with proper cuts. IMost of the 
quarrels I have ever kno\\Ti, have proceeded from some valiant 
coxcomb's persisting in the wrong, to defend some prevailing folly, 
and preser\-e himself from the ingenuousness of owning a mistake. 

By this means it is called "giving a man satisfaction," to tirge 
your offence against him with your sword ; which puts me in mind 
of Peter's order to the keeper, in The Tale of a Tub : " if you neglect 
to do all this, damn you and your generation for ever: and so we 
bid you heartily farewell." If the contradiction in the very terms 
of one of our challenges were as well explained and turned into 
downright English, would it not rim after this manner ? 

" Sir, — Your extraordinary beha\'iour last night, and the liberty 
you were pleased to take with me, makes me this morning give you 
this, to tell you, because you are an ill-bred puppy, I will meet you 
in Hyde-park, an hour hence; and because you want both breed- 
ing and humanity, I desire you would come -ndth a pistol in your 
hand, on horseback, and endeavour to shoot me through t^^e head, 

44 



THE TATLER 

to teach you more manners. If you fail of doing me this pleasure, 
I shall say, you are a rascal, on every post in town: and so, sir, if 
you will not injure me more, I shall never forgive what you have 
done already. Pray, sir, do not fail of getting everything ready; 
and you will infinitely oblige, sir, your most obedient humble 
servant, &c." 



SNUFF 

No. 35.] THURSDAY, June 30, 1709. [Steele.] 

THERE is a habit or custom which I have put my patience to 
the utmost stretch to have suffered so long, because several 
of my intimate friends are in the guilt; and that is, the humour of 
taking snuff, and looking dirty about the mouth by way of orna- 
ment. 

My method is, to dive to the bottom of a sore before I pretend 
to apply a remedy. For this reason, I sat by an eminent story- 
teller and poHtician, who takes half an ounce in five seconds, and 
has mortgaged a pretty tenement near the town, merely to improve 
and dung his brains with this prolific powder. I observed this 
gentleman, the other day, in the midst of a story, diverted from it 
by looking at something at a distance, and I softly hid his box. But 
he returns to his tale, and, looking for his box, he cries, "And so, 
sir — " Then, when he should have taken a pinch, "As I was 
saying — " says he, "has nobody seen my box?" His friend 
beseeches him to finish his narration: then he proceeds: "And so, 

sir where can my box be?" Then turning to me, "Pray, sir, 

did you see my box?" "Yes, sir," said I, "I took it to see how 
long you could live without it. " He resumes his tale, and I took 
notice that his dulness was much more regular and fluent than 
before. A pinch supplied the place of "As I was saying," and 
"So, sir"; and he went on currently enough in that style which the 
learned call the insipid. This observation easily led me into a 
philosophic reason for taking snuff, which is done only to supply 
with sensations the want of reflection. This I take to be an cvprjKa, 
a nostrum; upon which I hope to receive the thanks of this board; 
for as it is natural to lift a man's hand to a sore, when you fear 

45 



THE TATLER 

anything coming at you; so when a person feels his thoughts are 
run out, and he has no more to say, it is as natural to supply his 
weak brain with powder at the nearest place of access, viz. the 
nostrils. This is so evident that nature suggests the use accord- 
ing to the indigence of the persons who take this medicine, with- 
out being prepossessed with the force of fashion or custom. For 
example; the native Hibernians, who are reckoned not much 
unlike the antient Boeotians, take this specific for emptiness in the 
head, in greater abundance than any other nation under the sim. 
The learned Sotus, as sparing as he is in his words, would be 
still more silent if it were not for this powder. 

However low and poor the taking of snuff argues a man to be 
in his own stock of thoughts, or means to employ his brains and his 
fingers; yet there is a poorer creature in the world than he, and this 
is a borrower of snuff; a fellow that keeps no box of his own but is 
always asking others for a pinch. Such poor rogues put me always 
in mind of a common phrase among school-boys when they are 
composing their exercise, who run to an upper scholar, and cry, 
" Pray give me a Httle sense. " But of all things commend me to 
the ladies who are got into this pretty help to discourse. I have 
been these three years persuading Sagissa to leave it off; hut she 
talks so much, and is so learned, that she is above contradiction. 
However, an accident the other day brought that about, which my 
eloquence could never accomphsh. She had a very pretty fellow in 
her closet, who ran thither to avoid some company that came to 
visit her; she made an excuse to go in to him for some implement 
they were talking of. Her eager gallant snatched a kiss; but, 
being unused to snuflf, some grains from off her upper lip made him 
sneeze aloud, which alarmed the visitants, and has made a discovery, 
that profound reading, very much intelligence, and a general 
knowledge of who and who are together, cannot fill her vacant 
hours so much, but she is sometimes obUged to descend to enter- 
tainments less intellectual. 



46 



THE TATLER 

TOM WILDAIR 

No. 60.] SATURDAY, August 27, 1709. [Steele. 

TO proceed regularly in the history of my worthies, I ought to 
give an account of what has passed from day to day in this 
place; but a young fellow of my acquaintance has so lately been 
rescued out of the hands of the Knights of the Industry, that I 
rather choose to relate the manner of his escape from them, and 
the vmcommon way which was used to reclaim him, than to go on 
in my intended diary. 

You are to know then, that Tom Wildair is a student of the Inner 
Temple, and has spent his time, since he left the university for that 
place, in the common diversions of men of fashion; that is to say, 
in whoring, drinking, and gaming. The two former vices he had 
from his father; but was led into the last by the conversation of a 
partizan of the Myrmidons who had chambers near him. His 
allowance from his father was a very plentiful one for a man of 
sense, but as scanty for a modem fine gentleman. His frequent 
losses had reduced him to so necessitous a condition, that his lodg- 
iiigs were always haunted by impatient creditors; and all his 
thoughts employed in contriving low methods to support himself 
in a way of life from which he knew not how to retreat, and in 
which he wanted means to proceed. There is never wanting some 
good-natured person to send a man an account of what he has no 
mind to hear; therefore many epistles were conveyed to the father 
of this extravagant, to inform him of the company, the pleasures, 
the distresses, and entertainments, in which his son passed his 
time. The old fellow received these advices with all the pain of a 
parent, but frequently consulted his pillow, to know how to behave 
himself on such important occasions, as the welfare of his son, and 
the safety of his fortune. After many agitations of mind, he re- 
flected, that necessity was the usual snare which made men fall into 
meanness, and that a liberal fortune generally made a liberal and 
honest mind; he resolved therefore to save him from his ruin, by 
giving him opportunities of tasting what it is to be at ease, and 
mclosed to him the following order upon Sir Tristram Cash. 



47 



THE TATLER 

" Sir, — Pray pay to Mr. Thomas Wildair, or order, the sum 
of one thousand pounds, and place it to the account of yours, 

HUMPHELZY WlLDAm." 

Tom was so astonished with the receipt of this order, that though 
he knew it to be his father's hand, and that he had always large 
sums at Sir Tristram's; yet a thoiisand pounds was a trust of which 
Ms conduct had always made him appear so little capable, that he 
kept his note by him, until he writ to his father the following letter: 

" HoNOUKED Father, — I have received an order imder your 
hand for a thousand pounds, in words at length: and I think I 
could swear it is your own hand. I have looked it over and over 
twenty thousand times. There is in plain letters, T,h,o,u,s,a,n,d; 
and after it, the letters P,o,u,n,d,s. I have it still by me, and shall, 
I beheve, continue reading it until I hear from you." 

The old gentleman took no manner of notice of the receipt of 
his letter; but sent him another order for three thousand pounds 
more. His amazement on this second letter was imspeakable. 
He immediately double-locked his door, and sat down carefxiUy 
to reading and comparing both his orders. After he had read 
them until he was half mad, he walked sis or seven turns in his 
chamber, then opens his door, then locks it again ; and, to e:^mine 
thoroughly this matter, he locks his door again, puts his table and 
chairs against it ; then goes into his closet, and, locking himself in, 
reads his notes over again about nineteen times, which did but 
increase his astonishment. Soon after, he began to recollect many 
stories he had formerly heard of persons, who had been possessed 
with imaginations and appearances which had no foundation in 
nature, but had been taken with sudden madness in the midst of a 
seeming clear and untainted reason. This made him ven- gravely 
conclude he was out of his wits; and, with a design to compose 
himself, he immediately betakes him to his night-cap, with a reso- 
lution to sleep himself into his former povert}- and senses. To bed 
therefore he goes at noon -day; but soon rose again, and resolved to 
visit Sir Tristram upon this occasion. He did so, and dined 
with the knight, expecting he would mention some ad^ice from 
his father about pacing him money; but no such thing being said, 
"Look you, Sir Tristram," said he, "you are to know, that an 
affair has happened, which — " "Look you," sa}-s Tristram, "I 
48 



THE TATLER 

know, 'Mr. Wildair, you are going to desire me to advance ; but the 
late call of the bank, where I have not yet made my last pa>'ment, 
has obliged me — " Tom interrupted him, by shewing him the 
bill of a thousand poimds. When he had looked at it for a con- 
venient time, and as often surveyed Tom's looks and countenance; 
"Look you, Mr. Wildair, a thousand pounds — " Before he 
could proceed, he shews him the order for three thousand more — 
Sir Tristram examined the orders at the Hght, and finding at the 
writing the name, there was a certain stroke in one letter, which 
the father and he had agreed should be to such directions as he 
desired might be more immediately honoured, he forth^sdth pays 
the money. The possession of four thousand pounds gave my 
young gentleman a new train of thoughts: he began to reflect upon 
his birth, the great expectations he was bom to, and the unsmtable 
ways he had long pursued. Instead of that unthinking creature 
he was before, he is now prov-ident, generous, and discreet. The 
father and son have an exact and regular correspondence, with 
mutual and imreserved confidence in each other. The son looks upon 
his father as the best tenant he could have in the country, and the 
father finds the son the most safe banker he could have in the city. 



FASHIONABLE AFFECTATIONS 

No. 77.] THURSDAY, October 6, 1709. [Steele.] 

AS bad as the world is, I find by very strict observation upon 
\irtue and vice, that if men appeared no worse than they 
really are, I should have less work than at present I am obliged to 
undertake for their reformation. They have generally taken up a 
kind of inverted ambition, and affect even faults and imperfections 
of which they are innocent. The other day in a coffee-house I 
stood by a young heir, with a fresh, sanguine, and healthy look, who 
entertained us with an account of his diet-drinks; though, to my 
knowledge, he is as sound as any of his tenants. 

This worthy youth put me into reflections upon that subject; 
and I observed the fantastical humour to be so general, that there 
is hardly a man who is not more or less tainted with it. The first 

49 



THE TATLER 

of this order of men are the Valetudinarians, who are never in 
health; but complain of want of stomach or rest every day until 
noon, and then devour all which comes before them. Lady 
Dainty is convinced, that it is necessary for a gentlewoman to 
be out of order; and, to preserve that character, she dines every 
day in her closet at twelve, that she may become her table at two, 
and be unable to eat in public. About five years ago, I remember, 
it was the fashion to be short-sighted. A man would not own an 
acquaintance until he had first examined him with his glass. At 
a lady's entrance into the play-house, you might see tubes immedi- 
ately levelled at her from every quarter of the pit and side -boxes. 
However, that mode of infirmity is out, and the age has recovered 
its sight: but the blind seem to be succeeded by the lame, and a 
jaunty limp is the present beauty. I think I have formerly observed, 
a cane is part of the dress of a prig, and always worn upon a button, 
for fear he should be thought to have an occasion for it, or be 
esteemed really, and not genteelly, a cripple. I have considered, 
but could never find out, the bottom of this vanity. I indeed have 
heard of a Gascon general, who, by the lucky grazing of a bullet 
on the roll of his stocking, took occasion to halt all his life after. 
But as for our peaceable cripples, I know no foimdation for their 
behaviour, without it may be supposed that, in this warlike age, 
some think a cane the next honour to a wooden leg. This sort of 
affectation I have known run from one Hmb or member to another. 
Before the Kmpers came in, I remember a race of lispers, fine 
persons, who took an aversion to particular letters in our language. 
Some never uttered the letter H ; and others had as mortal an aver- 
sion to S. Others have had their fashionable defect in their ears, 
and would make you repeat all you said twice over. I know an 
ancient friend of mine, whose table is every day surrounded with 
flatterers, that makes use of this, sometimes as a piece of grandeur, 
and at others as an art, to make them repeat their commendations. 
Such affectations have been indeed in the world in ancient times; 
but they fell into them out of politic ends. Alexander the Great 
had a wry neck, which made it the fashion in his coiu-t to carry 
their heads on one side when they came into the presence. One 
who thought to outshine the whole court, carried his head so over 
complaisantly, that this martial prince gave him so great a box on 
the ear, as set all the heads of the court upright. 

This humour takes place in our minds as well as bodies. I 

50 



THE TATLER 

know at this time a young gentlemen, who talks atheistically all 
day in coffee-houses, and in his degrees of understanding sets up 
for a Free-thinker; though it can be proved upon him, he says his 
prayers every morning and evening. But this class of modern 
wits I shall reserve for a chapter by itself. 

Of the like turn are all your marriage-haters, who rail at the 
noose, at the words, "for ever and aye," and at the same time 
are secretly pining for some young thing or other that makes their 
hearts ache by her refusal. The next to these, are such as pretend 
to govern their wives, and boast how ill they use them; when at 
the same time, go to their houses, and you shall see them step as 
if they feared making a noise, and as fond as an alderman. I do 
not know but sometimes these pretences may arise from a desire 
to conceal a contrary defect than that they set up for. I remember, 
when I was a young fellow, we had a companion of a very fearful 
complexion, who, when we sat in to drink, would desire us to take 
his sword from him when he grew fuddled, for it was his misfortune 
to be quarrelsome. 

There are many, many of these evils, which demand my obser- 
vation; but because I have of late been thought somewhat too 
satirical, I shall give them warning, and declare to the whole 
world, that they are not true, but false hj'pocrites; and make it out 
that they are good men in their hearts. The motive of this mon- 
strous affectation, in the above-mentioned and the like particulars, 
I take to proceed from that noble thirst of fame and reputation 
which is planted in the hearts of all men. As this produces elegant 
writings and gallant actions in men of great abihties, it also brings 
forth spurious productions in men who are not capable of distin- 
guishing themselves by things which are really praise-worthy. As 
the desire of fame in men of true wit and gallantry shews itself in 
proper instances, the same desire in men who have the ambition 
without proper faculties, runs wild, and discovers itself in a thousand 
extravagances, by which they would signalize themselves from 
others, and gain a set of admirers. WTien I was a middle-aged 
man, there were many societies of ambitious young men in Eng- 
land, who, in their pursuits after fame, were every night employed 
in roasting porters, smoaking coblers, knocking do^vn watchmen, 
overturning constables, breaking windows, blackening sign-posts, 
and the Uke immortal enterprizes, that dispersed their reputation 
throughout the whole kingdom. One could hardly find a knocker 

51 



THE TATLER 

at a door in a whole street after a midnight expedition of these 
Beaux Esprits. I was lately very much surprised by an account 
of my maid, who entered my bed-chamber this morning in a very 
great fright, and told me, she was afraid my parlour was haimted; 
for that she had foimd several panes of my windows broken, and 
the floor strewed with half-pence. I have not yet a full hght into 
this new way, but am apt to think, that it is a generous piece of 
\\"it that some of my contemporaries make use of, to break windows, 
and leave money to pay for them. 



MARRIAGE OF JENNY DISTAFF 

No. 79.] TUESDAY, October ii, 1709. [Steele.] 

Felices, ter et amplius, 

Quos imipta tenet copula; nee malis 
Di^-ulsll5 querimoniis, 

Suprema citius solvet amor die. 

HoR. I Od. xiii. 17. 

Thrice happy they, in pure deHghts 
"WTiom love in mutual bonds unites, 
Unbroken by complaints or strife 
Even to the latest hours of life. 

MY sister Jenny's lover, the honest Tranquillus, for that shall 
be his name, has been impatient ^\-ith me to dispatch the 
necessar}- directions for his marriage; that while I am taken up -n-ith 
imaginar)' schemes, as he calls them, he might not bvim -n-ith real 
desire, and the torture of expectation. WTien I had reprimanded 
him for the ardour wherein he expressed himself, which I thought 
had not enough of that veneration with which the marriage-bed is 
to be ascended, I told him, '" the day of his nuptials should be on 
the Sattirday following, which was the eighth instant. " On the 
seventh in the evening, poor Jenny came into my chamber, and, 
ha\'ing her heart full of the great change of life from a \-irgin con- 
dition to that of a wife, she long sat silent. I saw she expected me 
to entertain her on this important subject, which was too dehcate a 
circumstance for herself to touch upon; whereupon I reUeved her 
modesty in the following manner: ''Sister," said I, "you are now 
going from me : and be contented, that you leave the company of a 

52 



THE TATLER 

talkative old man, for that of a sober young one: but take this along 
with you, that there is no mean in the state you are entering into, 
but you are to be exquisitely happy or miserable, and your fortune 
in this way of hfe will be wholly of your own making. In all the 
marriages I have ever seen, most of which have been imhappy ones, 
the great cause of evil has proceeded from slight occasions; and I 
take it to be the first maxim in a married condition, that you are 
be above trifles. WTien two persons have so good an opinion of 
each other as to come together for Hfe, they will not differ in matters 
of importance, because they think of each other with respect; and 
in regard to aU things of consideration that may affect them, they 
are prepared for mutual assistance and relief in such occurrences. 
For less occasions, they form no resolutions, but leave their minds 
unprepared. 

"This, dear Jenny, is the reason that the quarrel between Sir 
Harry WiUit and his lady, which began about her squirrel, is irre- 
concilable. Sir Harry was reading a grave author; she runs into 
his study, and, in a playing humour, claps the squirrel upon the 
folio: he threw the animal in a rage on the floor; she snatches it 
up again, calls Sir Harry a sovir pedant, without good nature or 
good manners. This cast him into such a rage, that he threw 
down the table before him, kicked the book roimd the room; then 
recoUected himself: 'Lord, madam,' said he, 'why did you run 
into such expressions? I was,' said he, 'in the highest delight 
with that author, when you clapped your squirrel upon my book;' 
and, smiling, added upon recoUection, 'I have a great respect for 
your favourite, and pray let us all be friends.' My lady was so 
far from accepting this apology, that she immediately conceived a 
resolution to keep him under for ever; and, with a serious air, 
replied, 'There is no regard to be had to what a man says, who 
can fall into so indecent a rage, and such an abject submission, in 
the same moment, for which I absolutely despise you.' Upon 
which she rushed out of the room. Sir Harry staid some minutes 
behind, to think and command himself; after which he foUowed 
her into her bed-chamber, where she was prostrate upon the bed, 
tearing her hair, and naming twenty coxcombs who would have 
used her otherwise. This provoked him to so high a degree, that 
he forbore nothing but beating her; and all the servants in the 
family were at their several stations listening, whilst the best man 
and woman, the best master and mistress, defamed each other in a 

53 



THE TATLER 

way that is not to be repeated even at Billingsgate. You know 
this ended in an immediate separation: she longs to return home 
but knows not how to do it: he invites her home every day, and 
lies with every woman he can get. Her husband requires no sub- 
mission of her; but she thinks her very return will argue she is to 
blame, which she is resolved to be for ever, rather than acknowledge 
it. Thus, dear Jenny, my great advice to you is, be guarded against 
giving or receiving little provocations. Great matters of offence 
I have no reason to fear either from you or your husband. " 

After this, we turned our discourse into a more gay style, and 
parted: but before we did so, I made her resign her snuff-box for 
ever, and half drown herself with washing away the stench of the 
musty. 

But the wedding morning arrived, and our family being very 
numerous, there was no avoiding the inconvenience of making 
the ceremony and festival more pubhc, than the modem way of 
celebrating them makes me approve of. The bride next morning 
came out of her chamber, dressed with all the art and care that 
IMrs. Toilet, the tire-woman, could bestow on her. She was on her 
wedding-day three-and-twenty: her person is far from what we call 
a regular beauty; but a certain sweetness in her countenance, an 
ease in her shape and motion, with an unaffected modesty in her 
looks, had attractions beyond what symmetry and exactness can 
inspire, without the addition of these endowments. When her 
lover entered the room, her features flushed with shame and joy; 
and the ingenuous manner, so full of passion and of awe, with which 
Tranquillus approached to salute her, gave me good omens of his 
future behaviour towards her. The wedding was wholly under 
my care. After the ceremony at church, I was resolved to enter- 
tain the company with a dinner suitable to the occasion, and pitched 
upon the Apollo, at the 01d-De\dl at Temple-Bar, as a place sacred 
to mirth tempered with discretion, where Ben Jonson and his sons 
used to make their Uberal meetings. Here the chief of the Staffian 
race appeared; and as soon as the company were come into that 
ample room, Lepidus Wagstaff began to make me compHments for 
choosing that place, and fell into a discourse upon the subject of 
pleasure and entertainment, drawoi from the rules of Ben's club, 
which are in gold letters over the chimney. Lepidus has a way very 
uncommon, and speaks on subjects on which any man else would 
certainly offend, with great dexterity. He gave us a large account 

54 



THE TATLER 

of the public meetings of all the well-turned minds who had passed 
through this Hfe in ages past, and closed his pleasing narrative with 
a discourse on marriage, and a repetition of the following verses out 
of Milton. 

"Hail, wedded love! mysterious law! true source 
Of human offspring, sole propriety 
In paradise, of all things common else. 
By thee adult'rous lust was driven from men 
Among the bestial herds to range; by thee, 
Founded in reason, loyal, just and pure, 
Relations dear, and all the charities 
Of father, son, and brother, first were known. 
Perpetual fountain of domestic sweets, 
Whose bed is undefil'd and chaste pronounc'd, 
Present or past, as saints or patriarchs us'd. 
Here Love his golden shafts employs; here lights 
His constant lamp, and waves his purple wings: 
Reigns here, and revels not in the bought smile 
Of harlots, loveless, joyless, unendear'd. 
Casual fruition ; nor in court amours, 
Mix'd dance, or wanton mask, or midnight ball, 
Or serenade, which the starv'd lover sings 
To his proud fair, best quitted with disdain." 

In these verses, all the images that can come into a young woman's 
head on such an occasion are raised; but that in so chaste and 
elegant a manner, that the bride thanked him for his agreeable 
talk, and we sat down to dinner. 

Among the rest of the company, there was got in a fellow you call 
a Wag. This ingenious person is the usual life of all feasts and 
merriments, by speaking absurdities, and putting everybody of 
breeding and modesty out of countenance. As soon as we sat 
dowTi, he drank to the bride's diversion that night; and then made 
twenty double meanings on the word thing. We are the best-bred 
family, for one so numerous, in this kingdom; and indeed we 
should all of us have been as much out of countenance as the bride, 
but that we were reheved by an honest rough relation of ours at the 
lower end of the table, who is a lieutenant of marines. The soldier 
and sailor had good plain sense, and saw what was wrong as well 
as another; he had a way of looking at his plate, and speaking 
aloud in an inward manner; and whenever the Wag mentioned the 
word thing, or the words, that same, the Ueutenant in that voice 
cried, "Knock him down," The merry man, wondering, angry, 

55 



THE TATLER 

and looking rotmd. -^ras the diversioB of the table. When he 
offered to recover, and sav. " To the bride's best thoughts," " Knock 
him doTm." savs the lieutenant, and so on. This siUy humour 
diverted, and saved us from the fulsome entertainment of an 21- 
bred coxcomb; and the bride drank the Heutenant's health. We 
returned to my lodging, and Tranquill-iis led his wife to her apart- 
ment, "without the ceremony of throwing the stocking. 



SCENE OF -COUNTRY ETIQUETTE 

No. S6.3 THURSDAY, October 27,- 1709. [Addisok .vcd 

Steele.] 

WHEN I came home last night, my servant delivered me 
the following letter: 

Ort. 24- 
'' Sir, — I have orders from Sir Harry Quickset, of Staffordshire, 
Ban., to acquaint you, that his honour Sir Harn.- himself. Sir Giles 
Wheelbarrow, KnL, Thomas Rentfree. Esq.. justice of the quorum. 
Andrew Windmill, Esq., and Mr. Nicholas Doubt of the Inner 
Temple. Sir Harrys grandson, will wait upon you at the hour of 
nine to-morrow morning, being Tuesday the 25th of October, 
xrpon. business which Sir Harry wiE impart to you by word of 
mouth. I thought it proper to acquaint you before -hand so many 
persons of quality came, that you might not be surprised there- 
with. WTiich concludes, thou^ by many }-ear5' absence since I 
saw you at Stafford, -unknown, 

" Sir, your most humble servant, 

"John Theifty.** 

I received this message with less surprise than I beUeve Mr. 
Thrifty imagined; for I knew the good company too weU to feel 
any palpitatic^is at their approach: but I was in ver}' great con- 
cern how I should adjtist the ceremonial, and demean myself to 
all these great men, who perhaps had not seen anything aboA-e 
themselves for these twenty }'ear5 last pasL I am sure that is the 
case of Sir Harry. Besides which, I was sensible that there was a 
great point in adjtisting my behaAiour to the simple squire, so as 
to give him satirfactaon, and not disoblige the justice of the quorum. 

56 



THE TATLER 

The hour of nine was come this morning, and I had no sooner 
set chairs (by the stewards' letter) and fixed my tea equipage, 
but I heard a knock at my door, which was opened, but no one 
entered; after which followed a long silence, which was broke at 
last by, "Sir, I beg your pardon; I think I know better:" and 
another voice, "Nay, good Sir Giles — " I looked out from my 
window, and saw the good company all with their hats off, and 
arms spread, offering the door to each other. After many offers, 
they entered with much solemnity, in the order Mr. Thrifty was so 
kind as to name them to me. But they are now got to my chamber 
door, and I saw my old friend Sir Harry enter. I met him with 
all the respect due to so reverend a vegetable ; for you are to know, 
that is my sense of a person who remains idle in the same place 
for half a century. I got him with great success into his chair 
by the fire, without throwmg down any of my cups. The knight- 
bachelor told me, he had a great respect for my whole family, and 
would, with my leave, place himself next to Sir Harry, at whose 
right hand he had sat at every quarter-sessions this thirty years, 
unless he was sick. The steward in the rear whispered the yoimg 
Templar, "That is true to my knowledge." I had the misfor- 
tune, as they stood cheek by jole, to desire the squire to sit down 
before the justice of the quorum, to the no small satisfaction oi the 
former, and resentment of the latter: but I saw my error too late, 
and got them as soon as I could into their seats. " Well, (said I,) 
gentlemen, after I have told you how glad I am of this great hon- 
our, I am to desire you to drink a dish of tea. " They answered, 
one and all, that " They never drank tea in a morning. " "Not in 
a morning!" said I, staring roimd me. Upon which the pert 
jackanapes Nick Doubt tipped me the wink, and put out his 
tongue at his grandfather. Here followed a profound silence, 
when the steward in his boots and whip proposed that we should 
adjomn to some public-house, where everybody might call for 
what they pleased, and enter upon the business. We all stood 
up in an instant, and Sir Harry filed off from the left very dis- 
creetly, counter-marching behind the chairs towards the door: 
after him. Sir Giles in the same manner. The simple squire made 
a sudden start to follow; but the justice of the quorum whipped 
between upon the stand of the stairs. A maid going up with 
coals made us halt, and put us into such confusion, that we stood 
all in a heap, without any visible possibiUty of recovering our 

57 



THE TATLER 

order: for the young jackanapes seemed to make a jest of this 
matter, and had so contrived, by pressing amongst us imder pre- 
tence of making way, that his grandfather was got into the middle, 
and he knew nobody was of quahty to stir a step, till Sir Harry 
moved first. We were fixed in this perplexity for some time, till 
we heard a very loud noise in the street; and Sir Harry asking 
what it was, I, to make them move, said it was fire. Upon this, 
all rim down as fast as they could, without order or ceremony, 
till we got into the street, where we drew up in very good order, 
and filed off down Sheer Lane, the impertinent Templar driving 
us before him, as in a string, and pointing to his acquaintance 
who passed by. 

I must confess, I love to use people according to their own sense 
of good breeding, and therefore whipped in between the justice 
and the simple squire. He could not properly take this ill; but 
I overheard him whisper the steward, "That he thought it hard 
that a common conjurer should take place of him, though an 
elder squire. " In this order we marched down Sheer Lane, at the 
upper end of which I lodge. When we came to Temple Bar, Sir 
Harry and Sir Giles got over; but a run of coaches kept the rest 
of us on this side the street: however, we all at last landed, and 
drew up in very good order before Ben. Tooke's shop, who fav- 
oured our rallying with great humanity. From hence we proceeded 
again, till we came to Dick's Coffee-house, where I designed to 
carry them. Here we were at our old difficulty, and took up the 
street upon the same ceremony. We proceeded through the entry, 
and were so necessarily kept in order by the situation, that we were 
now got into the coffee-house itself, where, as soon as we arrived, 
we repeated our civilities to each other; after which, we marched 
up to the high table, which has an ascent to it enclosed in the 
middle of the room. The whole house was alarmed at this entry, 
made up of persons of so much state and rusticity. Sir Harry 
called for a mug of ale, and Dyer's Letter. The boy brought the 
ale in an instant: but said, they did not take in the Letter. "No! 
(says Sir Harry,) then take back your mug; we are Uke indeed to 
have good hquor at this house." Here the Templar tipped me 
a second wink, and if I had not looked very grave upon him, I 
found he was disposed to be very familiar with me. In short, I 
observed after a long pause, that the gentlemen did not care to enter 
upon business till after their morning draught, for which reason 

58 



THE TATLER 

I called for a bottle of mum; and finding that had no effect upon 
them, I ordered a second, and a third: after which, Sir Harry 
reached over to me, and told me in a low voice, that the place was 
too public for business ; but he would call upon me again to-morrow 
morning at my own lodgings, and bring some more friends with 
him. 



A DANCING-MASTER PRACTISING BY 
BOOK 

No. 88.] TUESDAY, November i, 1709. fADDisoN.ij 

I WAS this morning awakened by a sudden shake of the house ; 
and as soon as I had got a little out of my consternation, I felt 
another, which was followed by two or three repetitions of the 
same convulsion. I got up as fast as possible, girt on my rapier, 
and snatched up my hat, when my landlady came up to me, and 
told me that the gentlewoman of the next house begged me to step 
thither; for that a lodger she had taken in was run mad, and she 
desired my advice ; as indeed everybody in the whole lane does upon 
important occasions. I am not, Uke some artists, saucy, because 
I can be beneficial, but went immediately. Our neighbour told 
us, she had the day before let her second floor to a very genteel, 
youngish man, who told her he kept extraordinary good hoiu-s, 
and was generally at home most part of the morning and evening 
at study; but that this morning he had for an hour together made 
this extravagant noise which we then heard. I went upstairs with 
my hand upon the hilt of my rapier, and approached this new 
logder's door. I looked in at the key-hole, and there I saw a well- 
made man look with great attention on a book, and on a sudden 
jump into the air so high, that his head almost touched the ceiling. 
He came down safe on his right foot, and again flew up, aUghting 
on his left; then looked again at his book, and holding out his right 
leg, put it into such a quivering motion, that I thought he would 
have shaked it off. He used the left after the same manner; when 
on a sudden, to my great siirprise, he stooped himself incredibly 
low, and turned gently on his toes. After this circular motion, he 
contmued bent in that humble posture for some time, looking on 

59 



THE TATI.ER 

his book. After this he recovered himself by a sudden spring, 
and flew round the room in all the \aolence and disorder imaginable, 
till he made a full pause for want of breath. In this interim my 
woman asked what I thought: I whispered, that I thought this 
learned person an enthusiast, who possibly had his first education 
in the peripatetic way, which was a sect of philosophers who always 
studied when walking. But obser\'ing him much out of breath, I 
thought it the best time to master him if he were disordered, and 
knocked at his door. I was surprised to find him open it, and 
say, with great civiUty and good mien, " That he hoped he had not 
disturbed us." I believed him in a lucid interval, and desired he 
would please to let me see his book. He did so, smiling. I could 
not make an}thing of it, and therefore asked in what language it 
was wTit. He said, "It was one he studied with great application; 
but it was his profession to teach it, and could not communicate 
his knowledge without a consideration." I answered, "That I 
hoped he would hereafter keep his thoughts to himself; for his 
meditation this morning had cost me three coffee dishes, and a clean 
pipe. He seemed concerned at that, and told me he was a dancing- 
master, and had been reading a dance or two before he went out, 
which had been written by one who taught at an academy in 
France. He observed me at a stand, and went on to inform me, 
"That now articulate motions, as v.'eU as soxmds, were expressed 
by proper characters; and that there is nothing so common as to 
communicate a dance by a letter. " I beseeched him hereafter to 
meditate in a groimd-room, for that otherwise it would be impos- 
sible for an artist of any other kind to Uve near him ; and that I was 
sure, several of his thoughts this morning would have shaken my 
spectacles off my nose, had I been myself at study. 

I then took my leave of this \irtuoso, and returned to my 
chamber, meditating on the various occupations of rational 
creatiires. 



60 



THE TATLER 

APPLICATIONS FOR PERMISSON TO 

USE CANES, Etc. 

No. 103.] TUESDAY, December 6, 1709. [Addison and 
Steele.] 

— Hae nugae seria ducunt 
In mala, derisum semel exceptumque sinistra. — HOR. 

THERE is nothing gives a man greater satisfaction, than the 
sense of having despatched a great deal of business, espe- 
cially when it turns to the public emolument. I have much plea- 
sure of this kind upon my spirits at present, occasioned by the 
fatigue of afifairs which I went through last Saturday. It is some 
time since I set apart that day for examining the pretensions of 
several who had appUed to me for canes, perspective-glasses, 
snuff-boxes, orange-flower- waters, and the like ornaments of hfe. 
In order to adjust this matter, I had before directed Charles 
Lillie, of Beaufort Buildings, to prepare a great bundle of blank 
licences in the following words: 

"You are hereby required to permit the bearer of this cane to 
pass and repass through the streets and suburbs of London, or any 
place within ten miles of it, without let or molestation: provided 
that he does not walk with it under his arm, brandish it in the air, 
or hang it on a button: in which case it shall be forfeited; and I 
hereby declare it forfeited to any one who shall thmk it safe to take 
it from him. 

"Isaac Bickerstaffe." 

The same form, differing only in the provisos, will serve for a 
perspective, snuff-box, or perfumed handkerchief. I had placed 
myself in my elbow-chair at the upper end of my great parlour, 
having ordered Charles Lillie to take his place upon a joint-stool 
with a writing-desk before him. John Morphew also took his 
station at the door; I having, for his good and faithful services, 
appointed him my chamber-keeper upon court days. He let me 
know, that there were a great number attending without. Upon 
which I ordered him to give notice, that I did not intend to sit upon 
61 



THE TATLER 

snuff-boxes that day; but that those who appeared for canes might 
enter. The first presented me with the following petition, which 
I ordered IMr. LilUe to read. 

"To Isaac Bickerstaffe, Esq., Censor of Great Britain. 
"The humble Petition of Simon Trippit, 
" Showeth, 

"That your petitioner having been bred up to a cane from his 
youth, it is now become as necessary to him as any other of his 
limbs. 

" That a great part of his behaviour depending upon it, he should 
be reduced to the utmost necessities if he should lose the use of it. 

"That the knocking of it upon his shoe, leaning one leg upon it, 
or whistling with it on his mouth, are such great rehefs to him in 
conversation, that he does not know how to be good company 
without it. 

"That he is at present engaged in an armour, and must despair 
of success, if it be taken from him. 

"Your petitioner therefore hopes, that (the premises tenderly 
considered) your Worship will not deprive him of so useful and 
so necessary a support. 

"And your petitioner shall ever," &c. 

Upon the hearing of his case, I was touched with some compas- 
sion, and the more so, when upon observing him nearer I found 
he was a prig. I bid him produce his cane in court, which he had 
left at the door. He did so, and I finding it to be very curiously 
clouded, with a transparent amber head, and a blue ribbon to 
hang upon his wrist, I immediately ordered my clerk LiUie to lay 
it up, and deliver out to him a plain joint, headed with walnut; 
and then, in order to wean him from it by degrees, permitted 
him to wear it three days in the week, and to abate proportiona- 
bly till he found himself able to go alone. "^ 

The second who appeared, came limping into the court: and 
setting forth in his petition many pretences for the use of a cane, 
I caused them to be examined one by one; but finding him in dif- 
ferent stories, and confronting him with several witnesses who had 
seen him walk upright, I ordered Mr. LiUie to take in his cane, 
and rejected his petition as frivolous. 
62 



THE TATLER 

A third made his entry with great difficulty, leaning upon a 
slight stick, and in danger of falling every step he took. I saw 
the weakness of his hams; and hearing that he had married a 
young wife about a fortnight before, I bid him leave his cane, and 
gave him a new pair of crutches, with wliich he went off in great 
vigour and alacrity. This gentleman was succeeded by another, 
who seemed very much pleased while his petition was reading, in 
which he had represented, that he was extremely afflicted with the 
gout, and set his foot upon the ground with the caution and dig- 
nity which accompany that distemper. I suspected him for an 
impostor, and having ordered him to be searched, I committed 
him into the hands of Dr. Thomas Smith in King Street, (my own 
corn-cutter,) who attended in an outward room; and wrought so 
speedy a cure upon him, that I thought fit to send him also away 
without his cane. 

While I was thus dispensing justice, I heard a noise in my out- 
ward room; and inquiring what "was the occasion of it, my door- 
keeper told me, that they had taken up one in the very fact as he 
was passing by my door. They immediately brought in a lively, 
fresh-coloured young man, who made great resistance with hand 
and foot, but did not offer to make use of his cane, which hung 
upon his fifth button. Upon examination, I found him to be an 
Oxford scholar, who was just entered at the Temple. He at first 
disputed the jurisdiction of the court; but being driven out of his 
little law and logic, he told me very pertly, that he looked upon 
such a perpendicular creature as man to make a very imperfect 
figure without a cane in his hand. "It is well knowTi (says he) we 
ought, according to the natural situation of our bodies, to walk 
upon our hands and feet; and that the wisdom of the ancients 
had described man to be an animal of four legs in the morning, two 
at noon, and three at night; by which they intimated, that a cane 
might very properly become part of us in some period of life." 
Upon which I asked him, "whether he wore it at his breast to 
have it in readiness when that period should arrive?" My young 
lawyer immediately told me, he had a property in it, and a right 
to hang it where he pleased, and to make use of it as he thought fit, 
provided that he did not break the peace with it; and further 
said, that he never took it off his button, unless it were to lift it up 
at a coachman, hold it over the head of a drawer, point out the 
circumstances of a story, or for other services of the like nature, 

63 



THE TATLER 

that are all within the laws of the land. I did not care for dis- 
couraging a young man who, I saw, would come to good; and 
because liis heart was set upon his new purchase, I only ordered 
him to wear it about his neck, instead of hanging it upon his button, 
and so dismissed him. 

There were several appeared in court, whose pretensions I found 
to be very good, and therefore gave many their Hcences upon 
paying their fees; as many others had their hcences renewed, who 
required more time for recovery of their lameness than I had 
before allowed them. 

Having despatched this set of my petitioners, there came in a 
well-dressed man, with a glass- tube in one hand and his petition 
in the other. Upon his entering the room, he threw back the right 
side of his wig, put forward his right leg, and advancing the glass to 
his right eye, aimed it directly at me. In the mean while, to make 
my observations also, I put on my spectacles; in which posture we 
surveyed each other for some time. Upon the removal of our 
glasses, I desired him to read his petition, which he did very 
promptly and easily; though at the same time it set forth, that he 
could see nothing distinctly, and was within a very few degrees 
of being utterly blind; concluding with a prayer, that he might be 
permitted to strengthen and extend his sight by a glass. In answer 
to this, I told him, he might sometimes extend it to his own destruc- 
tion. " As you are now (said I) you are out of the reach of beauty; 
the shafts of the finest eyes lose their force before they can come 
at you; you cannot distinguish a toast from an orange-wench; you 
can see a whole circle of beauty without any interruption from an 
impertinent face to discompose you. In short, what are snares 
for others" — My petitioner would hear no more, but told me very 
seriously, "Mr. Bickerstaffe, you quite mistake your man; it is 
the joy, the pleasure, the employment of my Ufe, to frequent pubhc 
assemblies, and gaze upon the fair." In a word, I found his use 
of a glass was occasioned by no other infirmity but his vanity, and 
was not so much designed to make him see, as to make him be seen 
and distinguished by others. I therefore refused him a licence 
for a perspective, but allowed him a pair of spectacles, with full 
permission to use them in any pubhc assembly as he should think 
fit. He was followed by so very few of this order of men, that I 
have reason to hope this sort of cheats are almost at an end. 

The orange-flower-men appeared next with petitions, perfumed so 
64 



THE TATLER 

strongly with musk, that I was almost overcome with the scent ; and 
for my own sake, was obliged forthwith to licence their handker- 
chiefs, especially when I found they had sweetened them at Charles 
Lillie's, and that some of their persons would not be altogether 
inoffensive without them. John Morphew, whom I have made 
the general of my dead men, acquainted me, that the petitioners 
were all of that order, and could produce certificates to prove it 
if I required it. I was so well pleased with this way of their em- 
balming themselves, that I commanded the abovesaid Morphew 
to give it in orders to his whole army, that every one who did not 
surrender himself up to be disposed of by the upholders, should 
use the same method to keep himself sweet during his present state 
of putrefaction. 

I finished my session with great content of mind, reflecting upon 
the good I had done; for however sUghtly men may regard these 
particularities and little folUes in dress and behaviour, they lead 
to greater evils. The bearing to be laughed at for such singulari- 
ties, teaches us insensibly an impertinent fortitude, and enables 
us to bear public censure for things which more substantially 
deserve it. By this means they open a gate to folly, and often- 
times render a man so ridiculous, as discredit his virtues and capaci- 
ties, and unquaHfy them from doing any good in the world. Be- 
sides, the giving in to uncommon habits of this nature, is a want 
of that humble deference which is due to mankind; and (what is 
worst of all) the certain indication of some secret flaw in the mind 
of the person that commits them. When I was a young man, I 
remember a gentleman of great integrity and worth was very re- 
markable for wearing a broad belt, and a hanger instead of a fashion- 
able sword, though in all other points a very well-bred man. I 
suspected him at first sight to have something wrong in him, but 
was not able for a long while to discover any collateral proofs of it. 
I watched him narrowly for si.x and thirty years, when at last, to 
the surprise of everybody but myself, who had long expected to 
see the folly break out, he married his own cook-maid. 



65 



THE TATLER 

MRS. TRAN^UILLUS 

No. 104.] THURSDAY. December S, 1709. [Steele.] 

Garrit aniles 

Ex re fabellas . HoR. 2 Sat. vi. 78. 

He tells an old wife's tale verj- pertinently. 

MY brother Tranquillus being gone out of to\Mi for some days, 
m\- sister Jenny sent me Nvord she would come and dine with 
me. and therefore desired me to have no other company. I took 
care accordingly, and was not a httle pleased to see her enter the 
room \^-ith a decent and matron-Uke behaviour, which I thought 
very much became her. I saw she had a great deal to say to me, 
and easily discovered' in her eyes, and the air of her countenance, 
that she had abundance of satisfaction in her heart, wMch she 
longed to commmiicate. However, I was resolved to let her break 
into her discourse her own way. and reduced her to a thousand 
Httle dences and intimations to bring me to the mention of her hus- 
band. But, finding I was resolved not to name him, she began 
of her o^^^l accord. "^My husband," said she, "gives lais humble 
sernce to you;" to which I only answered, 'T hope he is well;" 
and, without waiting for a reply, fell into other subjects. She at 
last was out of all patience, and said, with a smile and manner that 
I thought had more beauty and spirit than I had ever obser\ed 
before in her, "I did not tMnk, brother, you had been so ill-natured. 
You have seen, ever since I came in, that I had a mind to talk of 
my husband, and you vnll not be so kind as to give me an occasion." 
— 'T did not know," said I, ''but it might be a disagreeable subject 
to you. You do not take me for so old-fashioned a fellow as to 
think of entertaining a young lady with the discourse of her hus- 
band. I know, notliing is more acceptable than to speak of one 
who is to be so; but to speak of one who is so! indeed, Jenny, I am 
a better bred man than you think me." She shewed a Uttle dislike 
at my raillery; and, by her bridling up, I perceived she expected 
to be treated hereafter not as Jenny Distaff, but ]Slrs. Tranquillus. 
I was very well pleased \A'ith this change in her humour; and, upon 
talking with her on several subjects, I could not but fancy that 
66 



THE TATLER 

I saw a great deal of her husband's way and manner in her remarks, 
her phrases, the tone of her voice, and the very air of her counte- 
nance. This gave me an unspeakable satisfaction, not only because 
I had found her an husband, from whom she could learn many 
things that were laudable, but also because I looked upon her imita- 
tion of him as an infaUible sign that she entirely loved him_. 

This is an observation that I never knew fail, though I do not 
remember that any other has made it. The natural shyness of 
her sex hindered her from telling me the greatness of her own pas- 
sion ; but I easily collected it from the representation she gave me of 
his. "I have everything," says she, "in Tranquillus, that I can 
wish for; and enjoy in him, what indeed you have told me were to 
be met with in a good husband the fondness of a lover, the tender- 
ness of a parent, and the intimacy of a friend." It transported me 
to see her eyes swimming in tears of affection when she spoke. 
"And is there not, dear sister," said I, "more pleasure in the pos- 
session of such a man, than in all the Uttle impertinences of balls, 
assemblies, and equipage, which it cost me so much pains to make 
you contemn?" She answered, smiling, "Tranquillus has made 
me a sincere convert in a few weeks, though I am afraid you could 
not have done it in your whole life. To tell you truly, I have only 
one fear hanging upon me, which is apt to give me trouble in the 
midst of all my satisfactions: I am afraid, you must know, that I 
shall not always make the same amiable appearance in his eyes 
that I do at present. You know, brother Bickerstaffe, that you 
have the reputation of a conjurer; and if you have any one secret in 
your art to make your sister always beautiful, I should be happier 
than if I were mistress of all the worlds you have sho%vn me in a 
starry night." — "Jenny," said I, "without having recourse to 
magic, I shall give you one plain rule, that will not fail of making 
you always amiable to a man who has so great a passion for you, 
and is of so equal and reasonable a temper as Tranquillus. Endeav- 
our to please, and you must please ; be always in the same disposi- 
tion as you are when you ask for this secret, and you may take my 
word, you will never want it. An inviolable fidelity, good humour,, 
and complacency of temper, out-live all the charms of a fine face, 
and make the decays of it invisible." 

We discoursed very long upon this head, which was equally agree- 
able to us both; for I must confess, as I tenderly love her, I take as 
much pleasure in giving her instructions for her welfare, as she her- 
67 



THE TATLER 

self does in receiving them. I proceeded, therefore, to inculate 
these sentiments, by relating a ver}^ particular passage that happened 
within my own knowledge. 

There were several of us making merry at a friend's house in a 
country village, when the sexton of the parish church entered the 
room in a sort of surprise, and told us, " that as he was digging a 
grave in the chancel, a Uttle blow of his pickaxe opened a decayed 
coffin, in which there were several \\Titten papers." Our curios- 
ity was immediately raised, so that we went to the place where the 
sexton had been at work, and found a great concourse of people 
about the grave. Among the rest, there was an old woman, who 
told us, the person buried there was a lady whose name I do not 
think fit to mention, though there is nothing in the story but what 
tends very much to her honour. This lady lived several years an 
exemplary pattern of conjugal love, and, dying soon after her hus- 
band, who every way answered her character in virtue and affection, 
made it her death-bed request, " that all the letters which she had 
received from him both before and after her marriage should be 
buried in the coffin with her." These, I found upon examination, 
were the papers before us. Several of them had suffered so much 
by time, that I could only pick out a few words; as my soul 1 lilies t 
roses I dearest angel ! and the like. One of them, which was legible 
throughout, ran thus: 

" Madam, — If you would know the greatness of my love, con- 
sider that of your own beauty. That blooming countenance, that 
snowy bosom, that graceful person, return every moment to my 
imagination: the brightness of your eyes hath hindered me from 
closing mine since I last saw you. You may still add to your 
beauties by a smile. A frowTi will make me the most wretched 
of men, as I am the most passionate of lovers." 

It filled the whole company with a deep melancholy, to compare 
the description of the letter mth the person that occasioned it, who 
was now reduced to a few crumbling bones and a Uttle mouldering 
heap of earth. With much ado I deciphered another letter, which 
began with, " My dear, dear wdfe." This gave me a curiosity to see 
how the style of one wTitten in marriage differed from one written 
in courtship. To my surprise, I found the fondness rather aug- 
68 



THE TATLER 

mented than lessened, though the panegyric turned upon a different 
accompHshment. The words were as follows: 

" Before this short absence from you, I did not know that I loved 
you so much as I really do; though, at the same time, I thought I 
loved you as much as possible. I am under great apprehension, 
lest you should have any uneasiness whilst I am defrauded of my 
share in it, and cannot think of tasting any pleasures that you do not 
partake with me. Pray, my dear, be careful of your health, if for 
no other reason, but because you know I could not outlive you. It 
is natm-al in absence to make professions of an inviolable con- 
stancy; but towards so much merit, it is scarce a virtue, especially 
when it is but a bare return to that of which you have given me such 
continued proofs ever since our first acquaintance. I am, &c." 

It happened that the daughter of these two excellent persons was 
by when I was reading this letter. At the sight of the cofl&n, in 
which was the body of her mother, near that of her father, she 
melted into a flood of tears. As I had heard a great character of 
her virtue, and observed in her this instance of fiUal piety, I could 
not resist my natural inclination of giving advice to yoimg people, 
and therefore addressed myself to her. "Young lady," said I, 
"you see how short is the possession of that beauty, in which 
nature has been so Uberal to you. You find the melancholy sight 
before you is a contradiction to the first letter that you heard on that 
subject; whereas you may observe, the second letter, which cele- 
brates your mother's constancy, is itself, being found in this place, 
an argument of it. But, madam, I ought to caution you, not to 
think the bodies that He before you your father and your mother. 
Know, their constancy is rewarded by a nobler union than by this 
mingling of their ashes, in a state where there is no danger or possi- 
bility of a second separation." 



69 



THE TATLER 

THE PETTICOAT 

No. 1 1 6.] THURSDAY, January 5, 1709-10. [Addison.] 

Pars minima est ipsa puella sui. — Ovid. 

The young lady is the least part of herself. 

THE court being prepared for proceeding on the cause of the 
petticoat, I gave orders to bring in a criminal, who was taken 
up as she went out of the puppet-shew about three nights ago, and 
was now standing in the street, with a great concourse of people 
about her. Word was brought me, that she had endeavoured twice 
or thrice to come in, but could not do it by reason of her petticoat, 
which was too large for the entrance of my house, though I had 
ordered both the folding doors to be thrown open for its reception. 
Upon this, I desired the jury of matrons, who stood at my right- 
hand, to inform themselves of her condition, and know whether 
there were any private reasons why she might not make her appear- 
ance separate from her petticoat. This was managed with great 
discretion, and had such an effect, that upon the return of the ver- 
dict from the bench of matrons, I issued out an order forthwith, 
"that the criminal should be stripped of her incumbrances, until 
she became little enough to enter my house." I had before given 
directions for an engine of several legs, that could contract or open 
itself like the top of an umbrella, in order to place the petticoat upon 
it, by which means I might take a leisurely survey of it, as it should 
appear in its proper dimensions. This was all done accordingly; 
and forthwith, upon the closing of the engine, the petticoat was 
brought into court. I then directed the machine to be set upon the 
table, and dilated in such a manner as to shew the garment in its 
utmost circumference; but my great hall was too narrow for the 
experiment; for before it was half unfolded, it described so im- 
moderate a circle, that the lower part of it brushed upon my face as 
I sat in my chair of judicature. I then inquired for the person that 
belonged to the petticoat; and, to my great surprise, was directed 
to a very beautiful young damsel, with so pretty a face and shape, 
that I bid her come out of the crowd, and seated her upon a little 
crock at my left hand. "My pretty maid," said I, "do you own 
yourself to have been the inhabitant of the garment before us?" 
70 



THE TATLER 

The girl, I found, had good sense, and told me with a smile, that, 
" notwithstanding it was her own petticoat, she should be very glad 
to see an example made of it; and that she wore it for no other 
reason, but that she had a mind to look as big and burly as other 
persons of her quality; that she had kept out of it as long as she 
could, and until she began to appear httle in the eyes of her acquain- 
tance; that, if she laid it aside, people would think she was not 
made Uke other women." I always give great allowances to the 
fair sex upon account of the fashion, and, therefore, was not dis- 
pleased with the defence of my pretty criminal. I then ordered 
the vest which stood before us to be drawn up by a pulley to the top 
of my great hall, and afterwards to be spread open by the engine it 
was placed upon, in such a manner, that it formed a very splendid 
and ample canopy over our heads, and covered the whole court of 
judicature with a kind of silken rotunda, in its form not unHke the 
cupola of Saint Paul's. I entered upon the whole cause with great 
satisfaction as I sat under the shadow of it. 

The counsel for the petticoat were now called in, and ordered 
to produce what they had to say against the popular cry which 
was raised against it. They answered the objections with great 
strength and solidity of argument, and expatiated in very florid 
harangues, which they did not fail to set off and furbelow, if I 
may be allowed the metaphor, with many periodical sentences 
and turns of oratory. The chief arguments for their client were 
taken, first, from the great benefit that might arise to our woolen 
manufactory from this invention, which was calculated as follows. 
The common petticoat has not above four yards in the circum- 
ference ; whereas this over our heads had more in the semi-diameter; 
so that, by allowing it twenty-four yards in the circumference, the 
five millions of woollen petticoats which, according to Sir William 
Petty, supposing what ought to be supposed in a well-governed 
state, that all petticoats are made of that stuff, would amovmt to 
thirty millions of those of the ancient mode. A prodigious improve- 
ment of the woollen trade! and what could not fail to sink the 
power of France in a few years. 

To introduce the second argument, they begged leave to read 
a petition of the ropemakers, wherein it was represented, "that 
the demand for cords, and the price of them, were much risen 
since this fashion came up. " At this, all the company who were 
present lifted up their eyes into the vault; and I must confess, we 

71 



THE TATLER 

did discover many traces of cordage, which were interwoven in the 
stiffening of the drapery. 

A third argument was founded upon a petition of the Green- 
land trade, which likewise represented the great consumption 
of whalebone which would be occasioned by the present fashion, 
and the benefit which would thereby accrue to that branch of 
the British trade. 

To conclude, they gently touched upon the weight and un- 
wieldiness of the garment, which, they insinuated, might be of 
great use to preserve the honour of families. 

These arguments would have wrought very much upon me, 
as I then told the company in a long and ' elaborate discourse, 
had I not considered the great and additional expense which 
such fashions would bring upon fathers and husbands; and, there- 
fore, by no means to be thought of until some years after a peace. 
I farther urged, that it would be a prejudice to the ladies them- 
selves, who could never expect to have any money in the pocket, 
if they laid out so much on the petticoat. To this I added, the 
great temptation it might give to virgins, of acting in security like 
married women, and by that means give a check to matrimony, an 
institution always encouraged by wise societies. 

At the same time, in answer to the several petitions produced 
on that side, I shewed one subscribed by the women of several 
persons of quality, humbly setting forth, "that, since the intro- 
duction of this mode, their respective ladies had, instead of bestow- 
ing on them their cast gowns, cut them into shreds, and mixed them 
with the cordage and buckram, to complete the stiffening of their 
under petticoats." For which, and sundry other reasons, I pro- 
nounced the petticoat a forfeiture: but, to shew that I did not make 
that judgment for the sake of filthy lucre, I ordered it to be folded 
up, and sent it as a present to a widow-gentlewoman, who has five 
daughters; desiring she would make each of them a petticoat out 
of it, and send me back the remainder, which I design to cut into 
stomachers, caps, facings of my waistcoat-sleeves, and other 
garnitures suitable to my age and quality. 

I would not be understood, that, while I discard this monstrous 
invention, I am an enemy to the proper ornaments of the fair sex. 
On the contrary, as the hand of natiu-e has poured on them such a 
profusion of charms and graces, and sent them into the world more 
amiable and finished than the rest of her works; so I would have 

72 



THE TATLER 

them bestow upon themselves all the additional beauties that art 
can supply them with, provided it does not interfere with, disguise, 
or pervert those of nature. 

I consider woman as a beautiful romantic animal, that may 
be adorned with furs and feathers, pearls and diamonds, ores 
and silks. The lynx shall cast its skin at her feet to make her a 
tippet; the peacock, parrot, and swan shall pay contributions to 
her muff; the sea shall be searched for shells, and the rocks for 
gems; and every part of nature furnish out its share towards the 
embellishment of a creature that is the most consummate work of 
it. All this I shall indulge them in ; but as for the petticoat I have 
been speaking of, I neither can nor will allow it. 



ON THE LOTTERY 

No. 124.] TUESDAY, January 24, 1709-10 [Steele.] 

Ex humili summa ad fastigia rerum 

Extollit, quoties voluit Fortuna jocari. 

Juv. Sat. iii. 39. 

Fortune can, for her pleasure, fools advance, 
And toss them on the wheels of Chance. 

I WENT on Saturday last to make a visit in the city; and as 
I passed through Cheapside, I saw crowds of people turning 
down towards the Bank, and struggling who should first get their 
money into the new-erected lottery. It gave me a great notion of 
the credit of our present government and administration, to find 
people press as eagerly to pay money, as they would to receive it; 
and, at the same time, a due respect for that body of men who have 
found out so pleasing an expedient for carrying on the common 
cause, that they have turned a tax into a diversion. The cheerful- 
ness of spirit, and the hopes of success, which this project has 
occasioned in this great city, hghtens the burden of the war, and 
puts me in mind of some games which, they say, were invented by 
wise men, who were lovers of their country, to make their fellow- 
citizens undergo the tediousness and fatigues of a long siege. I 
think there is a kind of homage due to fortune, if I may call it so, 

73 



THE TATLER 

and that I should be wanting to myself, if I did not lay in my 
pretences to her favour, and pay my comphments to her by recom- 
mending a ticket to her disposal. For this reason, upon my return 
to my lodgings, I sold off a couple of globes and a telescope, which, 
with the cash I had by me, raised the sum that was requisite for 
that purpose. I find by my calculations, that it is but an hundred 
and fifiy thousand to one, against my being worth a thousand pounds 
per annum for thirty-two years; and if any Plumb in the city will 
lay me an hundred and fifty thousand pounds to twenty shillings, 
which is an even bet, that I am not this fortunate man, I will take 
the wager, and shall look upon him as a man of singular courage 
and fair-dealing; having given orders to Mr. Morphew to subscribe 
such a policy in my behalf, if any person accepts of the offer. I 
must confess, I have had such private intimations from the twink- 
Hng of a certain star in some of my astronomical observations, that 
I should be unwilling to take fifty pounds a year for my chance, 
unless it were to oblige a particular friend. 

My chief business at present is, to prepare my mind for this 
change of fortune: for as Seneca, who was a greater moraUst, and 
a much richer man than I shall be with this addition to my present 
income, says, Munera ista Fortunce putatis? Insidi'.e sunt. " What 
we look upon as gifts and presents of fortune, are traps and snares 
which she lays for the xmwary." I am arming myself against her 
favours with all my philosophy; and that I may not lose myself 
in such a redundance of unnecessary and superfluous wealth, I 
have determined to settle an annual pension out of it upon a family 
of Palatines, and by that means give these unhappy strangers a 
taste of British property. At the same time, as I have an excellent 
servant-maid, whose diUgence in attending me has increased in 
proportion to my infirmities, I shall settle upon her the revenue 
arising out of the ten pounds, and amounting to fourteen shillings 
per annum; with which she may retire into Wales, where she was 
born a gentlewoman, and pass the remaining part of her days in a 
condition suitable to her birth and quaUty. It was impossible 
for me to make an inspection into my own fortune on this occasion, 
without seeing, at the same time, the fate of others who are em- 
barked in the same adventure. And indeed it was a great pleasure 
to me to observe, that the war, which generally impoverishes those 
who furnish out the expense of it, will by this means give estates 
to some, without making others the poorer for it. 1 have lately 

74 



THE TATLER 

seen several in liveries, who will give as good of their own very 
suddenly ; and took a particular satisfaction in the sight of a young 
country- wench, whom I this morning passed by as she was whirl- 
ing her mop, with her petticoats tucked up very agreeably, who, 
if there is any truth in my art, is within ten months of being the 
handsomest great fortune in town. I must confess, I was so struck 
with the foresight of what she is to be, that I treated her accord- 
ingly, and said to her, "Pray, young lady, permit me to pass by." 
I would for this reason advise all masters and mistresses, to carry 
it with great moderation and condescension towards their servants 
until next Michaelmas, lest the superiority at that time should be 
inverted. 

I must likewise admonish all my brethren and fellow-adven- 
turers, to fill their minds with proper arguments for their sup- 
port and consolation in case of ill success. It so happens in this 
particular, that though the gainers will have reason to rejoice, 
the losers will have no reason to complain. I remember, the day 
after the thousand pound prize was drawn in the Penny-lottery, 
I went to visit a splenetic acquaintance of mine, who was under 
much dejection, and seemed to me to have suffered some great 
disappointment. Upon inquiry, I found he had put two-pence for 
himself and his son into the lottery, and that neither of them had 
drawn the thousand pounds. Hereupon this unlucky person took 
occasion to enumerate the misfortunes of his Ufe, and concluded 
with telling me, "that he never was successful in any of his under- 
takings." I was forced to comfort him with the common reflec- 
tion upon such occasions, "that men of the greatest merit are not 
always men of the greatest success, and that persons of his char- 
acter must not expect to be as happy as fools." I shall proceed 
in the Uke manner with my rivals and competitors for the thousand 
pounds a year, which we are now in pursuit of ; and that I may give 
general content to the whole body of candidates, I shall allow all 
that draw prizes to be fortunate, and all that miss them to be wise. 

I must not here omit to acknowledge, that I have received 
several letters upon this subject, but find one common error run- 
ning through them all, which is, that the writers of them believe 
their fate in these cases depends upon the astrologer, and not upon 
the stars; as in the following letter from one, who, I fear, flatters 
himself with hopes of success which are altogether groundless, since 
he does not seem to me so great a fool as he takes himself to be. 

75 



THE TATLER 

"Sir, — Coming to town, and finding my friend 'Mr. Partridge 
dead and buried, and you the only conjurer in repute, I am under 
a necessity of applying myself to you for a favour, which never- 
theless I confess it would better become a friend to ask, than one 
who is, as I am, altogether a stranger to you; but poverty, you 
know, is impudent; and as that gives me the occasion, so that alone 
could give me the confidence to be thus importunate. 

" I am, sir, very poor, and very desirous to be otherwise : I have 
got ten pounds, which I design to venture in the lottery now on 
foot. WTiat I desire of you is, that by your art, you will choose 
such a ticket for me as shall arise a benefit suflScient to maintain 
me. I must beg leave to inform you, that I am good for nothing, 
and must therefore insist upon a larger lot than would satisfy 
those who are capable, by their own abilities, of adding something 
to what you should assign them; whereas I must expect an abso- 
lute independent maintenance, because, as I said, I can do noth- 
ing. It is possible, after this free confession of mine, you may 
think I do not deserve to be rich; but I hope you will likewise 
observe, I can ill aflford to be poor. My own opinion is, that I 
am well qualified for an estate, and have a good title to luck in 
a lottery; but I resign myself whoUy to your mercy, not without 
hopes that you will consider, the less I deserve, the greater the 
generosity in you. If you reject me, I have agreed with an acquain- 
tance of mine to bury me for my ten pounds. I once more recom- 
mend myself to your favour, and bid you adieu!" 



THE PRUDE AND THE COQUETTE 

No. 126.] SATURDAY, January 28, 1709-10. [Steele.] 

Anguillam cauda tenes. — T. D'Urpey. 
You have got an eel by the tail. 

THERE is no sort of company so agreeable as that of women 
who have good sense without affectation, and can converse 
with men without any private design of imposing chains and 
fetters. Belvidera, whom I visited this evening, is one of these. 
76 



THE TATLER 

There is an invincible prejudice in favour of all she says, from 
her being a beautiful woman; because she does not consider her- 
self as such when she talks to you. This amiable temper gives a 
certain tincture to all her discourse, and made it very agreeable 
to me until we were interrupted by Lydia, a creatiire who has 
all the charms that can adorn a woman. Her attractions would 
indeed be irresistible, but that she thinks them so, and is always 
employing them in stratagems and conquests. WTien I turned 
my eye upon her as she sat down, I saw she was a person of that 
character, which, for the farther information of my country corres- 
pondents, I had long wanted an opportunity of explaining. Lydia 
is a finished coquette, which is a sect among women of all others 
the most mischievous, and makes the greatest havoc and disorder in 
society. I went on in the discourse I was in with Belvidera, without 
shewing that I had observed anything extraordinary in Lydia: 
upon which, I immediately saw her look me over as some very 
ill-bred fellow; and casting a scornful glance on my dress, give a 
shrug at Belvidera. But, as much as she despised me, she wanted 
my admiration, and made twenty offers to bring my eyes her way: 
but I reduced her to a restlessness in her seat, and impertinent 
playing of her fan, and many other motions and gestures before 
I took the least notice of her. At last I looked at her with a kind 
of surprise, as if she had before been imobserved by reason of an 
ill light where she sat. It is not to be expressed what a sudden 
joy I saw arise in her covmtenance, even at the approbation of such 
a very old fellow: but she did not long enjoy her triumph without 
a rival; for there immediately entered Castabella, a lady of a quite 
contrary character, that is to say, as eminent a prude as Lydia 
is a coquette. Belvidera gave me a glance, which methought inti- 
mated, that they were both curiosities in their kind, and worth 
remarking. As soon as we were again seated, I stole looks at each 
lady, as if I was comparing their perfections. Belvidera observed 
it, and began to lead me into a discourse of them both to their faces, 
which is to be done easily enough; for one woman is generally so 
intent upon the faults of another, that she has not reflection enough 
to observe when her own are represented. "I have taken notice, 
Mr. Bickerstaffe," said Belvidera, "that you have, in some parts 
of your writings, drawn characters of our sex, in which you have 
not, to my apprehension, been clear enough and distinct; particu- 
larly in those of a Prude and a Coquette." Upon the mention of 

77 



THE TATLER 

this, Lydia was roused with the expectation of seeing Castabella's 
picture, and Castabella, with the hopes of that of Lydia. 
" Madam," said I to Belvidera, " when we consider nature, we shall 
often find very contrary effects flow from the same cause. The 
Prude and Coquette, as different as they appear in their behaviour, 
are in reality the same kind of women. The motive of action in 
both is the affectation of pleasing men. They are sisters of the 
same blood and constitution ; only one chooses a grave, and the other 
a light dress. The Prude appears more virtuous, the Coquette 
more vicious than she really is. The distant behaviour of the 
Prude tends to the same purpose as the advances of the Coquette; 
and you have as little reason to fall into despair from the severity 
of the one, as to conceive hopes from the familiarity of the other. 
What leads you into a clear sense of their character is, that you may 
observe each of them has the distinction of sex in all her thoughts, 
words, and actions. You can never mention any assembly you 
were lately in, but one asks you with a rigid, the other with 
a sprightly air, "Pray, what men were there?" As for Prudes, 
it must be confessed, that there are several of them who, like hypo- 
crites, by long practice of a false part become sincere; or at least 
delude themselves into a belief that they are so. 

For the benefit of the society of ladies, I shall propose one rule 
to them as a test of their virtue. I find in a very celebrated modem 
author, that the great foundress of Pietists, madam de Bourignon, 
who was no less famous for the sanctity of her life than for the sin- 
gularity of some of her opinions, used to boast, that she had not only 
the spirit of continency in herself, but that she had also the power 
of communicating it to all who beheld her. This the scoffers of 
those days called, "The gift of infrigidation," and took occasion 
from it to rally her face, rather than admire her virtue, I would 
therefore advise the Prude, who has a mind to know the integrity 
of her own heart, to lay her hand seriously upon it, and to examine 
herself, whether she could sincerely rejoice in such a gift of con- 
veying chaste thoughts to all her male beholders. If she has any 
aversion to the power of inspiring so great a virtue, whatever notion 
she may have of her perfection, she deceives her own heart, and is 
still in the state of prudery. Some perhaps will look upon the 
boast of madam de Bourignon, as the utmost ostentation of a Prude. 

If you would see the humour of a Coquette pushed to the last 
excess, you may find an instance of it in the following story: which 

78 



THE TATLER 

I will set down at length, because it pleased me when I read it, 
though I cannot recollect in what author. 

"A young coquette widow in France having been followed by a 
Gascon of quality, who had boasted among his companions of some 
favours which he had never received; to be revenged of him, sent 
for him one evening, and told him, " it was in his power to do her 
a very particular service." The Gascon, with much profession 
of his readiness to obey her commands, begged to hear in what 
manner she designed to employ him. "You know," said the 
widow, "my friend Belinda; and must often have heard of the 
jealousy of that impotent wretch her husband. Now it is abso- 
lutely necessary, for the carrying on a certain affair, that his wife 
and I should be together a whole night. What I have to ask of 
you is, to dress yourself in her night-cloaths, and lie by him a whole 
night in her place, that he may not miss her while she is with me." 
The Gascon, though of a very lively and undertaking complexion, 
began to startle at the proposal. "Nay," says the widow, "if you 
have not the courage to go through what I ask of you, I must em- 
ploy somebody else that will." "Madam," says the Gascon, "I 

will kill him for you if you please ; but for lying with him ! How 

is it possible to do it without being discovered?" "If you do not 
discover yourself," says the widow, "you will lie safe enough, for 
he is past all curiosity. He comes in at night while she is asleep, 
and goes out in a morning before she awakes; and is in pain for 
nothing, so he knows she is there." " Madam," replied the Gascon, 
"how can you reward me for passing a night with this old fellow ?" 
The widow answered with a laugh, " Perhaps by admitting you to 
pass a night with one you think more agreeable." He took the 
hint; put on his night-cloaths; and had not been a-bed above an 
hour before he heard a knocking at the door, and the treading of one 
who approached the other side of the bed, and who he did not ques- 
tion was the good man of the house. I do not know, whether the 
story would be better by telling you in this place, or at the end of 
it, that the person who went to bed to him was our young coquette 
widow. The Gascon was in a terrible fright every time she moved 
in the bed, or turned towards him; and did not fail to shrink from 
her, until he had conveyed himself to the very ridge of the bed. 
I will not dwell upon the perplexity he was in the whole night, 
which was augmented, when he observed that it was now broad 
day, and that the husband did not yet offer to get up and go about 

79 



THE TATLER 

his business. All that the Gascon had for it, was to keep his face 
turned from him, and to feign himself asleep, when, to his utter 
confusion, the widow at last puts out her arm, and pulls the bell 
at her bed's head. In came her friend, and two or three com- 
panions to whom the Gascon had boasted of her favours. The 
widow jumped into a wrapping gown, and joined with the rest in 
laughing at this man of intrigue. 



TRIAL OF THE WINE-BREWERS 

No. 131.] THURSDAY, February 9, 1709-10. [Addison.] 

Scelus est jugulare Falemum, 

Et dare Campano toxica saeva mero. Mart. i. 19. 

How great the crime, how flagrant the abuse! 
T' adulterate generous wine with noxious juice. 

THERE is in this city a certain fraternity of chemical oper- 
ators, who work undergrovmd in holes, caverns, and dark 
retirements, to conceal their mysteries from the eyes and observa- 
tion of mankind. These subterraneous philosophers are daily 
employed in the transmutation of liquors, and, by the power of 
magical drugs and incantations, raising under the streets of London 
the choicest products of the hills and valleys of France. They 
can squeeze Bordeaux out of the sloe, and draw Champagne from 
an apple. Virgil, in that remarkable prophecy, 

Incultisque rubens pendebit sentibus uva. 

ViRG. EcL. iv. 29. 

The ripening grape shall hang on every thorn, 

seems to have hinted at this art, which can turn a plantation of 
northern hedges into a vineyard. These adepts are known among 
one another by the name of Wine-brewers; and, I am afraid, do 
great injtuy, not only to her majesty's customs, but to the bodies 
of many of her good subjects. 
Having received sundry complaints against these invisible work- 
80 



THE TATLER 

men, I ordered the proper officer of my court to ferret them out 
of their respective caves, and bring them before me, which was 
yesterday executed accordingly. 

The person who appeared against them was a merchant, who 
had by him a great magazine of wines, that he had laid in before the 
war: but these gentlemen, as he said," had so vitiated the nation's 
palate, that no man could believe his to be French, because it did 
not taste like what they sold for such." As a man never pleads 
better than where his own personal interest is concerned, he ex- 
hibited to the court, with great eloquence, "that this new corpora- 
tion of druggists had inflamed the bills of mortality, and puzzled 
the college of physicians with diseases, for which they neither knew 
a name or cure. He accused some of giving all their customers 
colics and megrims; and mentioned one who had boasted, he had 
a tun of claret by him, that in a fortnight's time should give the 
gout to a dozen of the healthfulest men in the city, provided that 
their constitutions were prepared for it by wealth and idleness. He 
then enlarged, with a great show of reason, upon the prejudice, 
which these mixtures and compositions had done to the brains of 
the English nation; as is too visible, said he, from many late pam- 
phlets, speeches, and sermons, a swell as from the ordinary conversa- 
tions of the youth of this age. He then quoted an ingenious person, 
who would undertake to know by a man's writings the wine he 
most deUghted in; and on that occasion named a certain satirist, 
whom he had discovered to be the author of a lampoon, by a mani- 
fest taste of the sloe, which showed itself in it, by much roughness, 
and Uttle spirit. 

In the last place, he ascribed to the unnatural tumults and fer- 
mentations which these mixtures raise in our blood, the divisions, 
heats, and animosities, that reign among us; and, in particular, 
asserted most of the modem enthusiasms and agitations to be noth- 
ing else but the effects of adulterated Port. 

The counsel for the Brewers had a face so extremely inflamed, 
and iUuminated with carbuncles, that I did not wonder to see him 
an advocate for these sophistications. His rhetoric was likewise 
such as I should have expected from the common draught, which 
I found he often drank to a great excess. Indeed, I was so sur- 
prised at his figure and parts, that I ordered him to give me a taste 
of his usual liquor; which I had no sooner drunk, but I found a 
pimple rising in my forehead ; and felt such a terrible decay in my 
8i 



THE TATLER 

understanding, that I would not proceed in the trial until the 
fume of it was entirely dissipated. 

This notable advocate had little to say in the defence of his 
clients, but that they were vmder a necessity of making claret, if they, 
keep open their doors ; it being the nature of mankind to love every- 
thing that is prohibited. He farther pretended to reason, that it 
might be as profitable to the nation to make French wine as French 
hats ; and concluded with the great advantage that this practice had 
already brought to part of the kingdom. Upon which he informed 
the court,' that the lands in Herefordshire were raised two years 
purchase since the beginning of the war. 

WTien I had sent out my summons to these people, I gave, at the 
same time, orders to each of them to bring the several ingredients 
he made use of in distinct phials, which they had done accordingly, 
and ranged them into two rows on each side of the court. The 
workmen were drawn up in ranks behind them. The merchant 
informed me, "that in one row of phials were the several colours 
they dealt in, and in the other, the tastes." He then showed me, 
on the right-hand, one who went by the name of Tom Tintoret, 
who, as he told me, "was the greatest master in his colouring of 
any vintner in London." To give me a proof of his art, he took a 
glass of fair water; and, by the infusion of three drops out of one 
of his phials, converted it into a most beautiful pale Burgundy. 
Two more of the same kind heightened it into perfect Languedoc : 
from thence it passed into a florid Hermitage: and after having 
gone through two or three other changes, by the addition of a single 
drop, ended in a very deep Pontac. This ingenious virtuoso, seeing 
me very much surprised at his art, told me, that he had not an oppor- 
tunity of showing it in perfection, having only made use of water for 
the ground-work of his colouring; but that, if I were to see an oper- 
ation upon liquors of stronger bodies, the art would appear to a 
much greater advantage. He added, that he doubted not but it 
would please my ciu-iosity to see the cyder of one apple take only a 
vermilion, when another, with a less quantity of the same infusion, 
would rise into a dark purple, according to the different texture of 
parts in the liquor. He informed me also, that he could hit the 
different shades and degrees of red, as they appear in the pink and 
the rose, the clove and the carnation, as he had Rhenish or Moselle, 
Perry or White Port, to work in. 

I was so satisfied with the ingenuity of this virtuoso, that, after 
82 



THE TATLER 

having advised him to quit so dishonest a profession, I promised 
him, in consideration of his great genius, to recommend him as a 
partner to a friend of mine, who has heaped up great riches, and is 
a scarlet-dyer. 

The artists on my other hand were ordered, in the second place, 
to make some experiments of their skill before me: upon which the 
famous Harry Sippet stepped out, and asked me, " what I would be 
pleased to drink?" At the same time he filled out three or four 
white Uquors in a glass, and told me, "that it should be what I 
pleased to call for;" adding very learnedly, "That Uquor before 
him was as the naked substance, or first matter of his compound, to 
which he and his friend, who stood over-against him, could give 
what accidents, or form they pleased." Finding him so great a 
philosopher, I desired he would convey into it the qualities and es- 
sence of right Bordeaux. "Coming, coming, sir," said he, with 
the air of a drawer; and, after having cast his eye on the several 
tastes and flavours that stood before him, he took up a Httle cruet, 
that was filled with a kind of inky juice, and pouring some of it out 
into the glass of white wine, presented it to me; and told me, "this 
was the wine, over which most of the business of the last term had 
been dispatched." I must confess, I looked upon that sooty drug, 
which he held up in his cruet, as the quintessence of English Bor- 
deaux; and therefore desired him to give me a glass of it by itself, 
which he did with great unwillingness. My cat at that time sat by 
me upon the elbow of my chair; and as I did not care for making 
the experiment upon myself, I reached it to her to sip of it, which 
had hke to have cost her her life; for, notwithstanding it flung her 
at first into freakish tricks, quite contrary to her usual gravity, in 
less than a quarter of an hour she fell into convulsions; and, had it 
not been a creature more tenacious of Ufe than any other, would cer- 
tainly have died under the operation. 

I was so incensed by the tortures of my innocent domestic, and 
the unworthy dealings of these men, that I told them, if each of 
them had as many fives as the injured creature before them, they 
deserved to forfeit them, for the pernicious arts which they used for 
their profit. I therefore bid them look upon themselves as no better 
than as a kind of assassins and murderers within the law. How- 
ever, since they had dealt so clearly with me, and laid before 
me their whole practice, I dismissed them for that time; with a 
particular request, that they would not poison any of my friends 

83 



THE TATLER 

and acquaintance, and take to some honest livelihood without 
loss of time. 

For my ovm part, I have resolved hereafter to be very careful in 
my liquors; and have agreed with a friend of mine in the army, upon 
their next march, to secure me two hogsheads of the best stomach- 
wine in the cellars of Versailles, for the good of my Lucubrations, 
and the comfort of my old age. 



OUR CLUB 

No. 132.] SATURDAY, February ii, 1709-10. [Steele.] 

Habeo senectuti magnam gratiam, quae mihi sermonis aviditatem auxit, 
potionis et cibi sustulit. — TuLL. de Sen. 

I am much beholden to old age, which has increased my eagerness for con- 
versation in proportion as it has lessened my appetites of hunger and thirst. 

AFTER having applied my mind with more than ordinary at- 
tention to my studies, it is my usual cusom to relax and un- 
bend it in the conversation of such, as are rather easy than shining 
companions. This I find particularly necessary for me before I retire 
to rest, in order to draw my slumbers upon me by degrees, and fall 
asleep insensibly. This is the particular use I make of a set of 
heavy honest men, with whom I have passed many hours with much 
indolence, though not with great pleasure. Their conversation is a 
kind of preparative for sleep: it takes the mind down from its ab- 
stractions, leads it into the familiar traces of thought, and lulls it 
into that state of tranquilUty, which is the condition of a thinking 
man, when he is but half awake. After this, my reader will not 
be surprised to hear the account, which I am about to give of a club 
of my own contemporaries, among whom I pass two or three hours 
every evening. This I look upon as taking my first nap before I 
go to bed. The truth of it is, I should think myself unjust to pos- 
terity, as well as to the society at the Trumpet, of which I am a 
member, did not I in some part of my writings give an accoxmt of the 
persons among whom I have passed almost a sixth part of my time 
for these last forty years. Our club consisted originally of fifteen; 
but, partly by the severity of the law in arbitrary times, and partly 
by the natural effects of old age, we are at present reduced to a third 

84 



THE TATLER 

part of that number: in which, however, we hear this consolation, 
that the best company is said to consist of five persons, I must con- 
fess, besides the aforementioned benefit which I meet with in the 
conversation of this select society, I am not the less pleased with the 
company, in that I find myself the greatest wit among them, and am 
heard as their oracle in all points of learning and difficulty. 

Sir Jeofifrey Notch, who is the oldest of the club, has been in pos- 
session of the right-hand chair time out of mind, and is the only 
man among us that has the liberty of stirring the fire. This our 
foreman is a gentleman of an ancient family, that came to a great 
estate some years before he had discretion, and run it out in hounds, 
horses, and cock-fighting; for which reason he looks upon himself 
as an honest, worthy gentleman, who has had misfortunes in the 
world, and calls every thriving man a pitiful upstart. 

Major Matchlock is the next senior, who served in the last civil 
wars, and has all the battles by heart. He does not think any action 
in Europe worth talking of since the fight of Marston Moor; and 
every night tells us of his having been knocked off his horse at the 
rising of the London apprentices- for which he is in great esteem 
among us. 

Honest old Dick Reptile is the third of our society. He is a 
good-natured indolent man, who speaks httle himself, but laughs 
at our jokes; and brings his young nephew along with him, a youth 
of eighteen years old, to shew him good company, and give him a 
taste of the world. This young fellow sits generally silent; but 
whenever he opens his mouth, or laughs at anything that passes, 
he is constantly told by his uncle, after a jocular manner, "Ay, ay, 
Jack, you yovmg men think us fools; but we old men know you are." 

The greatest wit of our company, next to myself, is a Bencher 
of the neighbouring Inn, who in his youth frequented the ordi- 
naries about Charing Cross, and pretends to have been intimate 
with Jack Ogle. He has about ten distichs of Hudibras without 
book, and never leaves the club until he has appHed them all. If 
any modem wit be mentioned, or any town-frolic spoken of, he 
shakes his head at the dulness of the present age, and tells us a 
story of Jack Ogle. 

For my own part, I am esteemed among them, because they see 
I am something respected by others; though at the same time I 
understand by their behaviour, that I am considered by them as 
a man of a great deal of learning, but no knowledge of the world; 

85 



THE TATLER 

insomuch, that the Major sometimes, in the height of his military 
pride, calls me the Philosopher: and Sir Jeoffrey, no longer ago 
than last night, upon a dispute what day of the month it was then 
in Holland, pulled his pipe out of his mouth, and cried, "What 
does the scholar say to it?" 

Our club meets precisely at six o'clock in the evening; but I did 
not come last night until half an hour after seven, by which means 
I escaped the battle of Naseby, which the Major usually begins at 
about three-quarters after six: I found also, that my good friend 
the Bencher had already spent three of his distichs; and only waited 
an opportunity to hear a sermon spoken of, that he might introduce 
the couplet where "a stick" rhymes to "ecclesiastic." At my 
entrance into the room, they were naming a red petticoat and a 
cloak, by which I found that the Bencher had been diverting them 
with a story of Jack Ogle. 

I had no sooner taken my seat, but Sir Jeoffrey, to show his good- 
will towards me, gave me a pipe of his own tobacco, and stirred up 
the fire. I look upon it as a point of morality, to be obliged by those 
who endeavour to obhge me; and therefore, in requittal for his kind- 
ness, and to set the conversation a-going, I took the best occasion 
I could to put him upon telling us the story of old Gantlett, which 
he always does with very particular concern. He traced up his 
descent on both sides for several generations, describing his diet 
and manner of life, with his several battles, and particularly that 
in which he fell. This Gantlett was a gamecock, upon whose head 
the knight, in his youth, had won five hundred pounds, and lost 
two thousand. This naturally set the Major upon the account 
of Edge Hill fight, and ended in a duel of Jack Ogle's. 

Old Reptile was extremely attentive to all that was said, though 
it was the same he had heard every night for these twenty years, 
and, upon all occasions, winked upon his nephew to mind what 
passed. 

This may suffice to give the world a taste of our innocent conver- 
sation, which we spun out until about ten of the clock, when my 
maid came with a lantern to fight me home. I could not but reflect 
with myself, as I was going out, upon the talkative humoiu: of old 
men, and the fittle figure which that part of fife makes in one who 
cannot employ his natural propensity in discourses which would 
make him venerable. I must own, it makes me very melancholy 
in company, when I hear a yormg man begin a story; and have 
86 



THE TATLER 

often observed, that one of a quarter of an hour long in a man of 
five-and-twenty, gathers circumstances every time he tells it, until 
it grows into a long Canterbury tale of two hours by that time he 
is threescore. 

The only way of avoiding such a trifling and frivolous old age 
is, to lay up in our way to it such stores of knowledge and observa- 
tion, as may make us useful and agreeable in our declining years. 
The mind of man in a long Hfe will become a magazine of wisdom 
or foUy, and will consequently discharge itself in something imperti- 
nent or improving. For which reason, as there is nothing more 
ridiculous than an old trifling story-teller, so there is nothing more 
venerable, than one who has turned his experience to the enter- 
tainment and advantage of mankind. 

In short, we, who are in the last stage of life, and are apt to 
indulge ourselves in talk, ought to consider, if what we speak be 
worth being heard, and endeavour to make our discourse like that 
of Nestor, which Homer compares to the flowing of honey for its 
sweetness. 



TOM VARNISH 

No. 136.] TUESDAY, February 21, 1709-10. [Steele.] 

Deprendi miserum est: Fabio vel judice vincam. 

HoR. I Sat. ii. ver. ult. 

To be surpris'd, is, sure a wretched tale, 
And for the truth to Fabius I appeal. 

BECAUSE I have a professed aversion to long beginnings of 
stories, I will go into this at once, by telling you, that there 
dwells near the Royal Exchange as happy a couple as ever entered 
into wedlock. These Hve in that mutual confidence of each other, 
which renders the satisfaction of marriage even greater than those 
of friendship, and makes wife and husband the dearest appellations 
of human Ufe. Mr. Balance is a merchant of good consideration, 
and understands the world, not from speculation, but practice. 
His wife is the daughter of an honest house, ever bred in a family- 
way; and has, from a natural good understanding, and great inno- 

87 



THE TATLER 

cence, a freedom which men of sense know to be the certain sign of 
virtue, and fools take to be an encouragement to \'ice. 

Tom Varnish, a yoimg gentleman of the Middle-Temple, by the 
bounty of a good father, who was so obUging as to die, and leave 
him, in his tn^enty-fourth year, besides a good estate, a large sum 
which lay in the hands of Mr. Balance, had by this means an 
intimacy at his house; and being one of those hard students who 
read plays for the improvement in the law, took his rules of life 
from thence. Upon mature deliberation, he conceived it very 
proper, that he, as a man of wit and pleasure of the towTi, should 
have an intrigue with his merchant's wife. He no sooner thought 
of this adventiu-e, but he began it by an amorous epistle to the 
lady, and a faithful promise to wait upon her at a certain hour the 
next evening, when he knew her husband was to be absent. 

The letter was no sooner received, but it was communicated to 
the husband, and produced no other effect in him, than that he 
joined vnth his wife to raise all the mirth they could out of this 
fantastical piece of gallantry. They were so Uttle concerned at 
this dangerous man of mode, that they plotted ways to perplex him 
without hurting him. Varnish comes exactly at his hour; and the 
lady's well-acted confusion at his entrance gave him opportunity to 
repeat some couplets very fit for the occasion with very much grace 
and spirit. His theatrical manner of making love was interrupted 
by an alarm of the husband's coming; and the wife, in a personated 
terror, beseeched him, "if he had any value for the honour of a 
woman that loved him, he would jump out of the window." He 
did so, and fell upon feather-beds placed on purpose to receive him. 

It is not to be conceived how great the joy of an amorous man is, 
when he has suffered for his mistress, and is never the worse for it. 
Varnish the next day writ a most elegant billet, wherein he said all 
that imagination could form upon the occasion. He Wolently pro- 
tested, " going out of the window was no way terrible, but as it was 
going from her;" with several other kind ex-pressions, which pro- 
cured him a second assignation. Upon his second \'isit, he was con- 
veyed by a faithful maid into her bed chamber, and left there to 
expect the arrival of her mistress. But the wench, according to 
her instructions, ran in again to him, and locked the door after her 
to keep out her master. She had just time enough to convey the 
lover into a chest before she admitted the husband and his wife into 
the room. 



THE TATLER 

You may be sure that trunk was absolutely necessary to be 
opened; but upon her husband's ordering it, she assured him, 
"she had taken all the care imaginable in packing up the things 
with her own hands, and he might send the trunk abroad as soon 
as he thought fit." The easy husband beheved his wife, and the 
good couple went to bed ; Varnish having the happiness to pass the 
night in the mistress's bedchamber without molestation. The 
morning arose, but our lover was not well situated to observe her 
blushes; so that all we know of his sentiments on this occasion is, 
that he heard Balance ask for the key, and say, "he would himself 
go with this chest, and have it opened before the captain of the 
ship, for the greater safety of so valuable a lading." 

The goods were hoisted away; and Mr. Balance, marching by 
his chest with great care and diligence, omitting nothing that might 
give his passenger perplexity. But, to consummate all, he dehv- 
ered the chest, with strict charge, "in case they were in danger of 
being taken, to throw it overboard, for there were letters in it, the 
matter of which might be of great service to the enemy." 



KICKSHAWS 

No. 148.] TUESDAY, March 21, 1709-10. [Addison.] 

Gustus elementa per omnia quaerunt, 

Nunquam animo pretiis obstantibus . 

Juv. Sat. xi. 14. 

They ransack every element for choice 
Of every fish and fowl, at any price. 

HAVING intimated in my last paper, that I design to take 
under my inspection the diet of this great city, I shall begin 
with a very earnest and serious exhortation to all my well-disposed 
readers, that they would return to the food of their forefathers, and 
reconcile themselves to beef and mutton. This was the diet which 
bred that hardy race of mortals who won the fields of Cressy and 
Agincourt. I need not go up so high as the history of Guy, earl of 
Warwick, who is well known to have eaten up a dim cow of his o\\ti 
killing. The renowTied King Arthur is generally looked upon as 
the first who ever sat down to a whole roasted ox, which was cer- 
89 



THE TATLER 

tainlv the best way to preserve the gravy; and it is farther added, 
that he and liis knights sat about it at liis round table, and usually 
consumed it to the very bones before they would enter upon any 
debate of moment. The Black Prince was a professed lover of the 
Brisket; not to mention the liistory of the Surloin, or the institution 
of the order of Beef -eaters; which are all so many eWdent and unde- 
niable marks of the great respect, which our warhke predecessors 
ha\e paid to this excellent food. The tables of the ancient gentry 
of this nation were covered thrice a day with hot roast beef; and I 
am credibly informed, by an antiquary who has searched the regis- 
ters in wliich the bills of fare of the court are recorded, that instead 
of tea and bread and butter, wliich have prevailed of late years, the 
maids of honour in Queen Ehzabeth's time were allowed tliree 
rumps of beef for their breakfast. Mutton has likewise been in 
great repute among our ^■ahant coiuitr}Tnen; but was formerly 
observed to be the food rather of men of nice and deUcate appe- 
tites, than those of strong and robust constitutions. For which 
reason, even to this day, we use the word SJieep-bitcr as a term of 
reproach, as we do Beef-eater m a respectful and honourable sense. 
As for the flesh of lamb, veal, cliicken, and other animals under 
age. they were the invention of sickly and degenerate palates, 
according to that wholesome remark of Daniel the liistorian; 
who takes notice, that in all taxes upon pro\-isions. during the 
reigns of several of oiu: kings, there is notliing mentioned besides 
the flesh of such fowl and cattle as were arrived at their full growth, 
and were mature for slaughter. The common people of tliis king- 
dom do still keep up the taste of their ancestors; and it is to tliis 
that we. in a great measure, owe the unparalleled \ictories that 
have been gained in this reign: for I would desire my reader to con- 
sider, what work our countr\Tnen would have made at Blenheim 
and Ramillies. if they had been fed with fricassees and ragoiits. 

For this reason, we at present see the florid complexion, the 
strong hmb. and the hale constitution, are to be fomid chiefly 
among the meaner sort of people, or in the wild gentry who have 
been educated among the woods or mountains, ^^'hereas many 
great famiUes are insensibly fallen off from the atliletic constitution 
of their progenitors, and are dwindled away into a pale, sickly, 
spindle-legged generation of valetudinarians. 

I may perhaps, be thought extravagant in my notion; but I 
must confess, I am apt to impute tlie dishonours that sometimes 
90 



THE TATLER 

happen in great families, to the inflaming kind of diet which is so 
much in fashion. Many dishes can excite desire without giving 
strength, and heat the body without nourishing it; as physicians 
observe, that the poorest and most dispirited blood is most subject 
to fevers. I look upon a French ragout to be as pernicious to the 
stomach as a glass of spirits; and when I have seen a young lady 
swallow all the instigations of high soups, seasoned sauces, and 
forced meats, I have wondered at the despair or tedious fighting of 
her lovers. 

The rules among these false Delicates are, to be as contradictory 
as they can be to nature. 

Without expecting the return of hunger, they eat for an appetite, 
and prepare dishes, not to allay, but to excite it. 

They admit of nothing at their tables in its natural form, or 
without a disguise. 

They are to eat of everything before it comes in season, and 
to leave it off as soon as it is good to be eaten. 

They are not to approve anything that is agreeable to ordinary 
palates; and nothing is to gratify their senses, but what would 
offend those of their inferiors. 

I remember I was last summer invited to a friend's house, who 
is a great admirer of the French cookery, and, as the phrase is, 
"eats well." At our sitting down, I found the table covered with a 
great variety of unknown dishes. I was mightily at a loss to learn 
what they were, and therefore did not know where to help myself. 
That which stood before me I took to be a roasted porcupine, 
however did not care for asking questions; and have since been 
informed, that it was only a larded turkey. I afterwards passed 
my eye over several hashes, which I do not know the names of to 
this day; and, hearing that they were delicacies, did not think fit 
to meddle with them. 

Among other dainties, I saw something Uke a pheasant, and, 
therefore desired to be helped to a wing of it; but, to my great 
surprise, my friend told me it was a rabbit, which is a sort of meat 
I never cared for. At last I discovered, with some joy, a pig at the 
lower end of the table, and begged a gentleman that was near it to 
cut me a piece of it. Upon which the gentleman of the house said, 
with great civility, "I am sure you will like the pig, for it was 
whipped to death." I must confess, I heard him with horror, and 
could not eat of an animal that had died so tragical a death. I was 



THE TATLER 

now in great hunger and confusion, when methought I smelled the 
agreeable savour of roast beef; but could not tell from which dish it 
arose, though I did not question but it lay disguised in one of them, 
Upon turning my head, I saw a noble surloin on the side-table 
smoking in the most dehcious manner. I had recourse to it more 
than once, and could not see without some indignation that sub- 
stantial Enghsh dish banished in so ignominious a manner, to make 
way for French kickshaws. 

The desert was brought up at last, which in truth was as extraor- 
dinary as anything that had come before it. The whole, when 
ranged in its proper order, looked like a very beautiful winter- 
piece. There were several pyramids of candied sweetmeats, that 
hung like icicles, with fruits scattered up and down, and hid in an 
artificial kind of frost. At the same time there were great quantities 
of cream beaten up into a snow, and near them little plates of sugar- 
plums, disposed like so many heaps of hail-stones, with a multitude 
of congelations in jelHes of various colours. I was indeed so pleased 
with the several objects which lay before me, that I did not care for 
displacing any of them; and was half angry with the rest of the 
company, that, for the sake of a piece of lemon-peel, or a sugar- 
plum, would spoil so pleasing a picture. Indeed, I could not but 
smile to see several of them cooling their mouths with lumps of ice 
which they had just before been burning with salts and peppers. 

As soon as this show was over, I took my leave, that I might 
finish my dinner at my own house. For as I in everything love 
what is simple and natural, so particularly in my food; two plain 
dishes, with two or three good-natured, cheerful, ingenious friends, 
would make me more pleased and vain, than all that pomp and 
luxury can bestow. For it is my maxim that " he keeps the greatest 
table who has the most valuable company at it." 



92 



THE TATLER 



BEAUTY UNADORNED 

No. 151.] TUESDAY, March 28, 17 10. [Steele. 

Ni vis bona 

In ipsa inesset forma, haec formam extinguerent. — Ter. 

These things would extinguish beauty, if there were not an innate pleasure- 
giving energy in beauty itself. 

WHEN artists would expose their diamonds to an advantage, 
they usually set them to show in little cases of black velvet. 
By this means the jewels appear in their true and genuine lustre, 
while there is no colour that can infect their brightness, or give a false 
cast to the water. When I was at the opera the other night, the 
assembly of ladies in mourning made me consider them in the 
same kind of view. A dress wherein there is so little variety shews 
the face in all its natural charms, and makes one differ from another 
only as it is more or less beautiful. Painters are ever careful of 
offending against a rule which is so essential in all just representa- 
tions. The chief figure must have the strongest point of light, and 
not be injured by any gay colourings, that may draw away the 
attention to any less considerable part of the picture. The present 
fashion obliges every body to be dressed with propriety, and makes 
the ladies' faces the principal objects of sight. Every beautiful 
person shines out in all the excellence with which nature has 
adorned her; gaudy ribbands and glaring colours being now out of 
use, the sex has no opportunity given them to disfigure themselves, 
which they seldom fail to do whenever it lies in their power. When 
a woman comes to her glass, she does not employ her time in making 
herself look more advantageously what she really is; but endeavours 
to be as much another creature as she possibly can. Whether this 
happens because they stay so long, and attend their work so dili- 
gently, that they forget the faces and persons which they first sat 
down with, or whatever it is, they seldom rise from the toilet the 
same women they appeared when they began to dress. What 
jewel can the charming Cleora place in her ears, that can please 
her beholders so much as her eyes ? The cluster of diamonds upon 
the breast can add no beauty to the fair chest of ivory which supports 
it. It may indeed tempt a man to steal a woman, but never to love 

93 



THE TATLER 

her. Let Thalestris change herself into a motley, party-coloured 
animal: the pearl necklace, the flowered stomacher, the artificial 
nosegay, and shaded furbelow, may be of use to attract the eye of 
her beholder, and turn it from the imperfections of her features 
and shape. But if ladies will take my word for it (and as they 
dress to please men, they ought to consult our fancy rather than 
their own in this particular), I can assure them, there is nothing 
touches our imagination so much as a beautiful woman in a plain 
dress. There might be more agreeable ornaments found in our 
o\Mi manufacture, than any that rise out of the looms of Persia. 

This, I know, is a very harsh doctrine to woman-kind, who are 
carried away with every thing that is showy, and with what deUghts 
the eye, more than any other species of U\-ing creatures whatso- 
ever. \\'ere the minds of the sex laid open, we should find the 
chief idea in one to be a tippet, in another a mufif, in a third a fan, 
and in a fourth a fardingal. The memory of an old visiting lady 
is so filled with gloves, silks, and ribbands, that I can look upon it 
as nothing else but a toy-shop. A matron of my acquaintance, 
complaining of her daughter's vanity, was obserWng, that she had 
all of a sudden held up her head higher than ordinary, and taken 
an air that shewed a secret satisfaction in herself, mixed with a 
scorn of others. "I did not know," says my friend, "what to 
make of the carriage of this fantastical girl, until I was informed 
by her eldest sister, that she had a pair of striped garters on." 
This odd turn of mind makes the sex unhappy, and disposes them 
to be struck \A-ith every thing that makes a show, however trifling 
and superficial. 

Many a lady has fetched a sigh at the toss of a wig, and been 
ruined by the tapping of a snuff-box. It is impossible to describe 
all the execution that was done by the shoulder-knot, while that 
fashion prevailed, or to reckon up all the \-irgins that have faUen a 
sacrifice to a pair o{ fringed gloves. \ sincere heart has not made 
half so many conquests as an open waistcoat; and I should be glad 
to see an able head make so good a figure in a woman's company as 
a pair of red heels. A Grecian hero, when he was asked whether 
he could play upon the lute, thought he had made a good reply, 
when he answered, " No; but I can make a great city of a Httle one." 
Notv^-ithstanding his boasted wisdom, I appeal to the heart of any 
Toast in town, whether she would not think the lutenist preferable 
to the statesman ? I do not speak this out of any aversion that I 

94 



THE TATLER 

have to the sex: on the contrary, I have always had a tenderness 
for them; but, I must confess, it troubles me very much, to see the 
generaUty of them place their affections on improper objects, and 
give up all the pleasures of Hfe for gewgaws and trifles. 

Mrs. Margery Bickerstaff, my great aunt, had a thousand 
pounds to her portion, which our family was desirous of keeping 
among themselves, and therefore used all possible means to turn off 
her thoughts from marriage. The method they took was, in any 
time of danger, to throw a new gown or petticoat in her way. WTien 
she was about twenty-five years of age, she fell in love with a man 
of an agreeable temper and equal fortune, and would certainly have 
married him, had not my grandfather, Sir Jacob, dressed her up in 
a suit of flowered satin ; upon which she set so immoderate a value 
upon herself, that the lover was contemned and discarded. In the 
fortieth year of her age, she was again smitten; but very luckily 
transferred her passion to a tippet, which was presented to her by 
another relation who was in the plot. This, with a white sarsenet 
hood, kept her safe in the family until fifty. About sixt}^, which 
generally produces a kind of latter spring in amorous constitutions, 
my aunt Margery had again a colt's tooth in her head ; and would 
certainly have eloped from the mansion-house, had not her brother 
Simon, who was a wise man and a scholar, advised to dress her in 
cherry-coloured ribbands, which was the only expedient that could 
have been found out by the wit of man to preserve the thousand 
pounds in our family, part of which I enjoy at this time. 

This discourse puts me in mind of an humourist mentioned by 
Horace, called Eutrapelus, who, when he designed to do a man a 
mischief, made him a present of a gay suit; and brings to my mem- 
ory another passage of the same author, when he describes the 
most ornamental dress that a woman can appear in with two words, 
Simplex Munditiis, which I have quoted for the benefit of my fe- 
male readers. 



95 



THE TATLER 

THE POLITICAL UPHOLSTERER 

No. 155.] THURSDAY, April 6, 1710. [Addison.] 

Aliena negotia curat, 

Excussus propriis. HoR. 3 Sat. ii. 19. 

When he had lost all business of his own, 
He ran ia puest of news through all the town. 

THERE lived some years since, within my neighbourhood, a 
very grave person, an upholsterer, who seemed a man of more 
than ordinary appUcation to business. He was a very early riser, 
and was often abroad two or three hours before any of his neigh- 
bours. He had a particular carefulness in the knitting of his brows, 
and a kind of impatience in all his motions, that plainly discovered 
he was always intent on matters of importance. Upon my inquiry 
into his Hfe and conversation, I found him to be the greatest news- 
monger in our quarter; that he rose before day to read the Post- 
man; and that he would take two or three turns to the other end of 
the to%vn before his neighbours were up, to see if there were any 
Dutch mails come in. He had a wife and several children ; but was 
much more inquisitive to know what passed in Poland than in his 
own family, and was in greater pain and anxiety of mind for King 
Augustus's welfare, than that of his nearest relations. He looked 
extremely thin in a dearth of news, and never enjoyed himself in a 
westerly wind. This indefatigable kind of hfe was the ruin of his 
shop; for, about the time that his favourite prince left the crown 
of Poland, he broke and disappeared. 

This man and his affairs had been long out of my mind, imtil 
about three days ago, as I was walking in St. James's Park, I heard 
somebody at a distance hemming after me: and who should it be 
but my old neighbour the upholsterer ? I saw he was reduced to 
extreme poverty, by certain shabby superfluities in his dress; for, 
notwithstanding that it was a very sultry day for the time of the 
year, he wore a loose great-coat and a muff, with a long campaign 
wig out of cvu-1; to which he had added the ornament of a pair of 
black garters buckled under the knee. Upon his coming to me, 
I was going to inquire into his present circumstances; but was pre- 
vented by his asking me, with a whisper, " whether the last letters 
96 



THE TATLER 

brought any accounts that one might rely upon from Bender?" 
I told him, "None that I heard of;" and asked him, "whether he 
had yet married his eldest daughter?" He told me, "no. But 
pray," says he, "tell me sincerely, what are your thoughts of the 
king of Sweden ? " For though his wife and children were starv- 
ing, I found his chief concern at present was for this great monarch. 
I told him, "that I looked upon him as one of the first heroes of 
the age." "But pray," says he, "do you think there is any truth 
in the story of his wound?" And finding me surprised at the 
question, "Nay," says he, "I only propose it to you." I answered, 
"that I thought there was no reason to doubt of it." " But why in 
the heel," says he, "more than in any other part of the body?" 
"Because," said I, " the bullet chanced to light there." 

This extraordinary dialogue was no sooner ended, but he began 
to launch out into a long dissertation upon the affairs of the North ; 
and after having spent some time on them, he told me, he was in 
a great perplexity how to reconcile "The Supplement" with "The 
EngUsh-Post," and had been just now examining what the other 
papers say upon the same subject. " 'The Daily Courant,' " says 
he, "has these words: 'We have advices from very good hand, that 
a certain prince has some matters of great importance under con- 
sideration.' This is very mysterious; but the Post-boy leaves us 
more in the dark ; for he tells us, ' That there are private intimations 
of measures taken by a certain prince, which time will bring to 
light.' Now the ' Post-man,' " says he, " who used to be very clear, 
refers to the same news in these words; 'The late conduct of a 
certain prince affords great matter of speculation.' This certain 
prince," says the upholsterer, "whom they are all so cautious of 
naming, I take to be ." Upon which, though there was no- 
body near us, he whispered something in my ear, which I did not 
hear, or think worth my while to make him repeat. 

We were now got to the upper end of the Mall, where were three 
or four very odd fellows sitting together upon the bench. These 
I found were all of them poHticians, who used to sun themselves 
in that place every day about dinner-time. Observing them to be 
curiosities in their kind, and my friend's acquaintance, I sat down 
among them. 

The chief politician of the bench was a great asserter of para- 
doxes. He told us, with a seeming concern, "that, by some news 
he had lately read from Muscovy, it appeared to him that there 

97 



THE TATLER 

was a storm gathering in the Black Sea, which might in time do 
hurt to the naval forces of this nation." To this he added, "that, 
for his part, he could not wish to see the Turk driven out of Europe, 
which he beheved could not but be prejudicial to our woollen manu- 
facture." He then told us, "that he looked upon those extraordi- 
nary revolutions which had lately happened in those parts of the 
world, to have risen chiefly from two persons who were not much 
talked of; and those," says he, "are Prince Menzikoff, and the 
Duchess of Mirandola." He backed his assertions with so many 
broken hints, and such a show of depth and wisdom, that we gave 
ourselves up to his opinions. 

The discourse at length fell upon a point which seldom escapes 
a knot of true-bom Englishmen, whether, in case of a rehgious 
war, the Protestants would not be too strong for the Papists ? This 
we unanimously determined on the Protestant side. One who sat 
on my right-hand, and, as I found by his discourse, had been in 
the West Indies, assured us, " that it would be a very easy matter 
for the Protestants to beat the Pope at sea;" and added, "that 
whenever such a war does break out, it must turn to the good of 
the Leeward Islands." Upon this, one who sat at the end of the 
bench, and as I afterwards found, was the geographer of the com- 
pany, said, "that in case the Papists should drive the Protestants 
from these parts of Europe, when the worst came to the worst, it 
would be impossible to beat them out of Norway and Greenland, 
provided the Northern crowns hold together, and the czar of Mus- 
covy stand neuter." 

He farther told us, for our comfort, " that there were vast tracks 
of lands about the p^le, inhabited neither by Protestants nor Papists, 
and of greater extent than all the Roman-CathoHc dominions in 
Europe." 

When we had fully discussed this point, my friend the upholsterer 
began to exert himself upon the present negotiations of peace; in 
which he deposed princes, settled the bounds of kingdoms, and 
balanced the power of Europe, with great justice and impartiaUty. 

I at length took my leave of the company, and was going away; 
but had not gone thirty yards, before the upholsterer hemmed again 
after me. Upon his advancing towards me with a whisper, I ex- 
pected to hear some secret piece of news, which he had not thought 
fit to communicate to the bench; but, instead of that, he desired 
me in my ear to lend him half a crown. In compassion to so needy 
98 




The Politician. 



THE TATLER 

a statesman, and to dissipate the confusion I found he was in, I 
told him, "if he pleased, I would give him five shillings, to receive 
five pounds of him when the great Turk was driven out of Con- 
stantinople;" which he very readily accepted, but not before he 
had laid down to me the impossibility of such an event, as the 
affairs of Europe now stand. 

This paper I design for the particular benefit of those worthy 
citizens who live more in a coffee-house than in their shops, and 
whose thoughts are so taken up with the affairs of the allies, that 
they forget their custom 



TOM FOLIO 
No. 158.] THURSDAY, April 13, 1710. [Addison.] 

Fadrint nae intelligendo, ut nihil intelligant. — Ter. 
While they pretend to know more than others, they know nothing in reahty. 

TOM FOLIO is a broker in learning, employed to get together 
good editions, and stock the libraries of great men. There is 
not a sale of books begins until Tom Folio is seen at the door. 
There is not an auction where his name is not heard, and that too in 
the ver>' nick of time, in the critical moment, before the last decisive 
stroke of the hammer. There is not a subscription goes forward in 
which Tom is not privy to the first rough draught of the proposals; 
nor a catalogue printed, that doth not come to him wet from the 
press. He is an universal scholar, so far as the title-page of all 
authors; knows the manuscripts in which they were discovered, 
the editions through which they have passed, with the praises or 
censures which they have received from the several members of the 
learned world. He has a greater esteem for Aldus and Elzevir, 
than for Virgil and Horace. If you talk of Heredotus, he breaks 
out into a panegyric upon Harr}' Stephens. He thinks he. gives you 
an account of an author, when he tells you the subject he treats of, 
the name of the editor, and the year in which it was printed. Or 
if you draw him into farther particulars, he cries up the goodness of 
the paper, extols the diUgence of the corrector, and is transported 
with the beauty of the letter. This he looks upon to be sound learn 

99 



THE TATLER 

ing, and substantial criticism. As for those who talk of the fine- 
ness of st}"le. and the justness of thought or describe the brightness 
of any particular passages; nay, though they themselves write in 
the genius and spirit of the author they admire; Tom looks upon 
them as men of superficial learning, and flashy parts. 

I had yesterday morning a nsit from this learned ide^i, for ih^it 
is the light in which I consider ever}- pedant, when I discovered in 
him some little touches of the coxcomb, which I had not before ob- 
sen-ed. Being ven- full of the figure which he makes in the republic 
of letters, and wonderfully satisfied with his great stock of knowl- 
edge, he gave me broad intimations, that he did not beheve in all 
points as his forefathers had done. He then communicated to me 
a thought of a certain author upon a passage of \*irgil"s account of 
the dead, which I made the subject of a late paper. This thought 
hath taken ven- much among men of Tom's pitch and understand- 
ing, though imiversally exploded by all that know how to construe 
Virgil, or have any relish of an ti quit}-. Not to trouble my reader 
with it, I found, upon the whole, that Tom did not beheve a future 
state of rewards and pimishments, because .-Eneas, at his leaAing 
the empire of the dead, passed through the gate of ixory, and not 
through that of horn. Knowing that Tom had not sense enough 
to give up an opinion which he had once received, that I might 
avoid wrangling, I told him '" that \"irgil possibly had his oversights 
as well as another author." " Ahl Mr. Bickerstaff," sa}-s he, "you 
would have another opinion of him, if you would read him in Daniel 
Heinsius's edition. I have perused him m}-self several times in that 
edition," continued he; '"and after the strictest and most maUcious 
examination, could find but two faults in him; one of them is in the 
jEneids, where there are two commas instead of a parenthesis ; and 
another in the third Georgic, where you may find a semicolon turned 
upside down." "Perhaps," said I, "these were not \'irgirs faults, 
but those of the transcriber." "I do not design it," says Tom, "as 
a reflection on \*irgil; on the contrary, I know that all the manu- 
scripts declaim against such a punctuation. Oh I INIr. Bickerstaff," 
says he, " what would a man give to see one simile of Mrgil writ in 
his own hand ? " I asked him which was the simile he meant ; but 
was answered, any simile in \'irgil. He then told me all the secret 
histon- in the commonwealth of learning; of modem pieces that had 
the names of ancient authors annexed to them; of all the books that 
were now writing or printing in the several parts of Europe; of 



THE TATLER 

many amendments which are made, and not yet puhlished, and a 
thousand other particulars, which I would not have my memory 
burdened with for a Vatican. 

At length, being fully persuaded that I thoroughly admired him, 
and looked upon him as a prodigy of learning, he took his leave. I 
know several of Tom's class, who are professed admirers of Tasso, 
without understanding a word of ItaUan: and one in particular, 
that carries a Pastor Fido in his pocket, in which, I am sure, he is 
acquainted with no other beauty but the clearness of the character. 

There is another kind of pedant, who, with all Tom Folio's im- 
pertinences, hath greater superstructures and embellishments of 
Greek and Latin; and is still more insupportable than the other, 
in the same degree as he is more learned. Of this kind very often 
are editors, commentators, interpreters, schoUasts, and critics; and, 
in short, all men of deep learning without common sense. These 
persons set a greater value on themselves for having found out the 
meaning of a passage in Greek, than upon the author for having 
written it ; nay, will allow the passage itself not to have any beauty 
in it, at the same time that they would be considered as the greatest 
men of the age, for having interpreted it. They will look with con- 
tempt on the most beautiful poems that have been composed by any 
of their contemporaries ; but will lock themselves up in their studies 
for a twelvemonth together, to correct, publish, and expoimd such 
trifles of antiquity, as a modem author would be contemned for. 
Men of the strictest morals, severest lives, and the gravest profes- 
sions, will WTite volumes upon an idle sonnet, that is originally in 
Greek or Latin; give editions of the most immoral authors; and 
spin out whole pages upon the various readings of a lewd expression. 
All that can be said in excuse for them is, that their works suffi- 
ciently shew they have no taste of their authors; and that what they 
do in this kind, is out of their great learning, and not out of any 
levity or lasciviousness of temper. 

A pedant of this nature is wonderfully well described in six lines 
of Boileau, with which I shall conclude his character: 

Un Pedant enyvre de sa vaine science, 
Tout herisse de Grec, tout boufl& d'arrogance. 
Et qui de mille auteurs retenus mot pour mot, 
Dans sa tete entassez n'a souvent fait qu'un sot, 
Croit qu'un livre fait tout, and que sans Aristote 
La raison ne voit goute, and le bon sens radote. 

lOI 



THE TATLER 

Brim-full of learning see that pedant stride, 
Bristling with horrid Greek, and puff'd with pride! 
A thousand authors he in vain has read, 
And with their maxims stuff'd his empty head; 
And thinks that, without Aristotle's rule. 
Reason is bUnd, and common sense a fool. 



A VISIT AND LETTER FROM THE 
UPHOLSTERER 

No. i6o.] TUESDAY, APRIL i8, 1710. [Addison.] 

A COMMON civility to an impertinent fellow, often draws upon 
one a great many unforeseen troubles; and if one doth not 
take particular care, will be interpreted by him as an overture of 
friendship and intimacy. This I was very sensible of this morning. 
About two hours before day, I heard a great rapping at my door, 
which continued some time, till my maid could get herself ready to 
go down and see what was the occasion of it. She then brought 
me up word, that there was a gentleman who seemed very much in 
haste, and said he must needs speak with me. By the description 
she gave me of him, and by his voice, which I could hear as I lay in 
my bed, I fancied him to be my old acquaintance the upholsterer, 
whom I met the other day in St. James's Park. For which reason 
I bid her tell the gentleman, whoever he was, that I was indisposed, 
that I could see nobody, and that, if he had anything to say to me, I 
desired he would leave it in writing. My maid, after having de- 
livered her message, told me, that the gentleman said he would stay 
at the next coffee-house till I was stirring, and bid her be sure to 
tell me, that the French were driven from the Scarp, and that the 
Douay was invested. He gave her the name of another town, which 
I found she had dropped by the way. 

As much as I love to be informed of the success of my brave 
coimtrymen, I do not care for hearing of a victory before day, and 
was therefore very much out of humour at this unseasonable visit. 
I had no sooner recovered my temper, and was falling asleep, but I 
was immediately startled by a second rap; and uoon my maid's 



THE TATLER 

opening the door, heard the same voice ask her, if her master was 
yet up ? and at the same time bid her tell me, that he was come on 
purpose to talk with me about a piece of home-news that everybody 
in towTi will be full of two hours hence. I ordered my maid, as soon 
as she came into the room, without hearing her message, to tell the 
gentleman, that whatever his news was, I would rather hear it 
two hours hence than now; and that I persisted in my resolution 
not to speak with anybody that morning. The wench delivered 
my answer presently and shut the door. It was impossible for me 
to compose myself to sleep after two such unexpected alarms; for 
which reason I put on my clothes in a very peevish humour. I took 
several turns about my chamber, reflecting with a great deal of anger 
and contempt on these volunteers in politics, that undergo all the 
pain, watchfulness, and disquiet of a first minister, without turning 
it to the advantage either of themselves or their country; and yet it 
is surprising to consider how numerous this species of men is. 
There is nothing more frequent than to find a tailor breaking his 
rest on the affairs of Europe, and to see a cluster of porters sitting 
upon the ministry. Our streets swarm with poUticians, and there 
is scarce a shop which is not held by a statesman. As I was musing 
after this manner, I heard the upholsterer at the door delivering a 
letter to my maid, and begging her, in very great hurry, to give it 
to her master as soon as ever he was awake, which I opened and 
found as follows: 

" Mr. Bickerstaffe, — I was to wait upon you about a week 
ago, to let you know, that the honest gentleman whom you con- 
versed with upon the bench at the end of the Mall, having heard that 
I had received five shilhngs of you, to give you a hundred pounds 
upon the Great Turk's being driven out of Europe, desired me 
to acquiant you, that every one of that company would be willing 
to receive five shillings, to pay a hundred pounds on the same condi- 
tions. Our last advices from Muscovy making this a fairer bet than 
it was a week ago, I do not question but you will accept the wager. 

" But this is not my present business. If you remember, I whis- 
pered a word in your ear as we were walking up the Mall, and you 
see what has happened since. If I had seen you this morning, 
I would have told you in your ear another secret. I hope you will 
be recovered of your indisposition by to-morrow morning, when 
I will wait on you at the same hour as I did this; my private cir- 
103 



THE TATLER 

cumstances being such, that I cannot well appear in this quarter 
of the town after it is day. 

" I have been so taken up with the late good news from Holland, 
and expectation of further particulars, as well as with other trans- 
actions, of which I will tell you more to-morrow morning, that I 
have not slept a wink these three nights. 

"I have reason to believe, that Picardy v^dll soon follow the 
example of Artois, in case the enemy continue in their present reso- 
lution of fl3dng away from us. I think I told you last time we were 
together my opinion about the DeuUe. 

"The honest gentlemen upon the bench bid me tell you, they 
would be glad to see you often among them. We shall be there 
all the warm hours of the day during the present posture of affairs. 

" This happy opening of the campaign will, I hope, give us a very 
joyful summer; and I propose to take many a pleasant walk vnth 
you, if you will sometimes come into the Park; for that is the only 
place in which I can be free from the malice of my enemies. Fare- 
well till three-a-clock to-morrow morning. 
"I am 

Your most humble servant," &c. 

"P.S. The king of Sweden is still at Bender." 

I should have fretted myself to death at this promise of a second 
visit, if I had not found in his letter an intimation of the good news 
which I have since heard at large. I have, however, ordered my 
maid to tie up the knocker of my door, in such a manner as she 
would do if I was really indisposed. By which means I hope to 
escape breaking my morning's rest. 



THE CRITIC 

No. 165.] SATURDAY, April 29, 1710. [Addison.] 

IT has always been my endeavour to distinguish between 
realities and appearances, and separate true merit from the 
pretence to it. As it shall ever be my study to make discoveries 
of this nature in human life, and to settle the proper distinctions 
104 



THE TATLER 

between the virtues and perfections of mankind, and those false 
colours and resemblances of them that shine ahke in the eyes of 
the vulgar ; so I shall be more particularly careful to search into the 
various merits and pretences of the learned world. This is the 
more necessary, because there seems to be a general combination 
among the pedants to extol one another's labours, and cry up one 
another's parts; while men of sense, either through that modesty 
which is natural to them, or the scorn they have for such trifling 
commendations, enjoy their stock of knowledge like a hidden trea- 
sury, with satisfaction and silence. Pedantry, indeed, in learning, 
is Uke hypocrisy in reUgion, a form of knowledge without the power 
of it, that attracts the eyes of common people, breaks out in noise 
and show, and finds its reward, not from any inward pleasure that 
.attends it, but from the praises and approbations which it receives 
from men. 

Of this shallow species there is not a more importunate, empty, 
and conceited animal, than that which is generally known by the 
name of a critic. This, in the common acceptation of the word, 
is one that, without entering into the sense and soul of an author, 
has a few general rules, which, like mechanical instruments, he 
applies to the works of every writer, and as they quadrate with 
them, pronounces the author perfect or defective. He is master 
of a certain set of words, as Unity, Style, Fire, Phlegm, Easy, 
Natural, Turn, Sentiment, and the Hke; which he varies, com- 
pounds, divides, and throws together, in every part of his discourse, 
without any thought or meaning. The marks you may know him 
by are, an elevated eye, and dogmatical brow, a positive voice, and 
a contempt for everything that comes out, whether he has read it 
or not. He dwells altogether in generals. He praises or dis- 
praises in the lump. He shakes his head very frequently at the 
pedantry of universities, and bursts into laughter when you men- 
tion an author that is known at Will's. He hath formed his judg- 
ment upon Homer, Horace, and Virgil, not from their own v/orks, 
but from those of Rapin and Bossu. He knows his Own strength 
so well, that he never dares praise anything in which he has not a 
French author for his voucher. 

With these extraordinary talents and accomplishments, Sir 
Timothy Tittle puts men in vogue, or condemns them to obscurity, 
and sits as judge of life and death upon every author that appears 
in public. It is impossible to represent the pangs, agonies, and con- 

105 



THE TATLER 

vulsions, which Sir Timothy expresses in every feature of his face, 
and muscle of his body, upon the reading of a bad poet. 

About a week ago I was engaged at a friend's house of mine in 
an agreeable conversation with his wife and daughters, when, 
in the height of our mirth. Sir Timothy, who makes love to my 
friend's eldest daughter, came in amongst us puflBng and blowing, 
as if he had been very much out of breath. He immediately called 
for a chair, and desired leave to sit down, without any further 
ceremony. I asked him, " Where he had been ? "WTiether he was 
out of order?" He only repHed, that he was quite spent, and fell 
a cursing in sohloquy. I could hear him cry, "A wicked rogue! — 
An execrable wretch! — Was there ever such a monster!" — The 
young ladies upon this began to be affrighted, and asked, 
'"Whether any one had hurt him?" He answered nothing, but 
still talked to himself. "To lay the first scene (says he) in St. 
James's Park, and the last in Northamptonshire!" "Is that all? 
(says I:) Then I suppose you have been at the rehearsal of the 
play this morning." "Been! (says he;) I have been at Northamp- 
ton, in the Park, in a lady's bed-chamber, in a dining-room, every- 
where; the rogue has led me such a dance!" — Though I could 
scarce forbear laughing at his discourse, I told him I was glad it 
was no worse, and that he was only metaphorically weary. "In 
short, sir, (says he,) the author has not observed a single imity in his 
whole play; the scene shifts in every dialogue; the villain has 
hurried me up and down at such a rate, that I am tired off my legs. 
I could not but observe with some pleasure, that the young lady whom 
he made love to, conceived a very just aversion towards him, upon 
seeing him so very passionate in trifles. And as she had that 
natural sense which makes her a better judge than a thousand 
critics, she began to rally him upon this foolish humour. " For my 
part, (says she,) I never knew a play take that was written up to 
your rules, as you call them." "How, madam! (says he,) is that 
your opinion ? I am sure you have a better taste." "It is a pretty 
kind of magic (says she) the poets have to transport an audience 
from place to place without the help of a coach and horses. I 
could travel round the world at such a rate. 'Tis such an enter- 
tainment as an enchantress finds when she fancies herself in a wood, 
or upon a mountain, at a feast, or a solemnity; though at the same 
time she has never stirred out of her cottage." "Your simile, 
madam, (says Sir Timothy,) is by no means just." " Pray, (says 
1 06 



THE TATLER 

she,) let my similes pass without a criticism. I must confess, 
(continued she, for I found she was resolved to exasperate him,) 
I laughed very heartily at the last new comedy which you found so 
much fault with." "But, madam, (says he,) you ought not to 
have laughed ; and I defy any one to show me a single rule that you 
could laugh by." "Ought not to laugh! (says she:) Pray who 
should hinder me?" "Madam, (says he,) there are such people 
in the world as Rapin, Dacier, and several others, that ought to 
have spoiled your mirth." "I have heard, (says the young lady,) 
that your great critics are always very bad poets: I fancy there is as 
much difference between the works of one and the other, as there 
is between the carriage of a dancing-master and a gentleman. I 
must confess, (continued she,) I would not be troubled with so fine 
a judgment as yours is; for I find you feel more vexation in a bad 
comedy, than I do in a deep tragedy." "Madam, (says Sir Tim- 
othy,) that is not my fault; they should learn the art of writing." 
"For my part, (says the young lady,) I should think the greatest 
art in your writers of comedies is to please." "To please!" (says 
Sir Timothy;) and immediately fell a laughing. "Truly, (says 
she,) that is my opinion." Upon this, he composed his coiinte- 
nance, looked upon his watch, and took his leave. 

I hear that Sir Timothy has not been at my friend's house since 
this notable conference, to the satisfaction of the young lady, who 
by this means has got rid of a very impertinent fop. 

I must confess, I could not but observe, with a great deal of sur- 
prise, how this gentleman, by his ill-nature, folly, and affectation, 
hath made himself capable of suffering so many imaginary pains, 
and looking with such a senseless severity upon the common diver- 
sions of life. 



107 



THE TATLER 

CHARACTERS IN A STAGE-COACH 

No. 192.] SATURDAY, July i, 1710. [Addison.] 
Tecum vivere amem,tecum obeam libens. — HoR. 

SOME years since I was engaged with a coach full of friends 
to take a journey as far as the Land's End. We were very 
well pleased with one another the first day, every one endeavouring 
to recommend himself by his good humour and complaisance to 
the rest of the company. This good correspondence did not last 
long; one of our party was soured the very first evening by a plate 
of butter which had not been melted to his mind, and which spoiled 
his temper to such a degree, that he continued upon the fret to the 
end of our journey. A second fell ofif from his good humour the 
next morning, for no other reason that I could imagine, but because 
I chanced to step into the coach before him, and place myself on 
the shady side. This, however, was but my own private guess, for 
he did not mention a word of it, nor indeed of anything else, for 
three days following. The rest of our company held out very near 
half the way, when of a sudden Mr. Sprightly fell asleep; and 
instead of endeavouring to divert and obhge us, as he had hitherto 
done, carried himself with an vmconcemed, careless, drowsy be- 
haviour, till we came to ox\x last stage. There were three of us 
who still held up our heads, and did all we could to make our 
journey agreeable; but, to my shame be it spoken, about three 
miles on this side Exeter I was taken with an unaccountable fit of 
suUenness, that hung upon me for above threescore miles; whether 
it were for want of respect, or from an accidental tread upon my 
foot, or from a fooHsh maid's calling me The old Gentleman, I 
cannot tell. In short, there was but one who kept his good humor 
to the Land's End. 

There was another coach that went along with us, in which I 
Hkewise observed, that there were many secret jealousies, heart- 
burnings, and animosities: for when we joined companies at night, 
I could not but take notice, that the passengers neglected their own 
company, and studied how to make themselves esteemed by us, 
who were altogether strangers to them: till at length they grew so 
weU acquainted with us, that they liked us as little as they did one 
another. When I reflect upon this journey, I often fancy it to be a 
108 



THE TATLER 

picture of human life, in respect to the several friendships, con- 
tracts, and alliances that are made and dissolved in the several 
periods of it. The most dehghtful and most lasting engagements 
are generally those which pass between man and woman; and yet 
upon what trifles are they weakened, or entirely broken! Some- 
times the parties fly asunder even in the midst of courtship, and 
sometimes grow cool in the very honey-month. Some separate 
before the first child, and some after the fifth; others continue good 
till thirty, others till forty; while some few, whose souls are of an 
happier make, and better fitted to one another, travel on together 
to the end of their joiuney, in a continual intercourse of kind offices 
and mutual endearments. 

When we, therefore, choose our companions for life, if we hope 
to keep both them and ourselves in good humour to the last stage 
of it, we must be extremely careful in the choice we make, as well 
as in the conduct on our own part. When the persons to whom we 
join ourselves can stand an examination, and bear the scrutiny, when 
they mend upon our acquaintance with them, and discover new 
beauties the more we search into their characters, our love will 
naturally rise in proportion to their perfections. 

But because there are very few possessed of such accomplish- 
ments of body and mind, we ought to look after those qualifications 
both in ourselves and others, which are indispensably necessary 
towards this happy union, and which are in the power of every one 
to acquire, or at least to cultivate and improve. These, in my 
opinion, are cheerfulness and constancy. A cheerful temper, 
joined with innocence, will make beauty attractive, knowledge 
delightful, and wit good-natured. It will lighten sickness, poverty, 
and afiliction; convert ignorance into an amiable simplicity, and 
render deformity itself agreeable. 

Constancy is natural to persons of even tempers and uniform 
dispositions, and may be acquired by those of the greatest fickle- 
ness, violence, and passion, who consider seriously the terms of 
union upon which they are come together, the mutual interest in 
which they are engaged, with all the motives that ought to incite 
their tenderness and compassion towards those who have their 
dependence upon them, and are embarked with them for life in the 
same state of happiness or misery. Constancy, when it grows in 
the mind upon considerations of this nature, becomes a moral 
virtue, and a kind of good-nature, that is not subject to any change 
109 



THE TATLER 

of health, age, fortune, or any of those accidents which are apt to 
unsettle the best dispositions that are founded rather in constitu- 
tion than in reason. Where such a constancy as this is wanting, 
the most inflamed passion may fall away into coldness and indif- 
ference, and the most melting tenderness degenerate into hatred 
and aversion. I shall conclude this paper with a story that is very 
well known in the north of England. 

About thirty years ago, a packet-boat that had several passengers 
on board was cast away upon a rock, and in so great danger of 
sinking, that all who were in it endeavoured to save themselves as 
well as they could, though only those who could swim well had a 
bare possibility of doing it. Among the passengers there were 
two women of fashion, who seeing themselves in such a disconso- 
late condition, begged of their husbands not to leave them. One 
of them chose rather to die with his wife, than to forsake her; the 
other, though he was moved with utmost compassion for his wife, 
told her, that for the good of their children it was better one of 
them should Uve, than both perish. By a great piece of good luck, 
next to a miracle, when one of our good men had taken the last and 
long farewell in order to save himself, and the other held in his arms 
the person that was dearer to him than Hfe, the ship was preserved. 
It is with a secret sorrow and vexation of mind that I must tell the 
sequel of the story, and let my reader know, that this faithful pair 
who were ready to have died in each other's arms, about three 
years after their escape, upon some trifling disgust, grew to a cold- 
ness at first, and at length fell out to such a degree, that they left 
one another, and parted for ever. The other couple lived together 
in an uninterrupted friendship and fehcity; and, what was remark- 
able, the husband whom the shipwreck had Uke to have separated 
from his wife, died a few months after her, not being able to survive 
the loss of her. 

I must confess, there is something in the changeableness and 
inconstancy of human nature, that very often both dejects and 
terrifies me. Whatever I am at present, I tremble to think what I 
may be. While I find this principle in me, how can I assure myself, 
that I shall be always true to my God, my friend, or myself? in 
short, without constancy there is neither love, friendship, or virtue 
in the world. 



no 



THE TATLER 



AMBITION 

No. 202.] TUESDAY, July 25, 17 10. [Steele.] 

Est hie, 

Est Ulubris, animus si te non deficit aequus. 

HoR. I Ep. xi. 
True happiness is to no spot confin'd: 
N If you preserve a firm and equal mind, 

'Tis here, 'tis there, and every where. 

THIS afternoon I went to visit a gentleman of my acquaintance 
at Mile-End; and passing through Stepney church-yard, I 
could not forbear entertaining myself with the inscriptions on the 
tombs and graves. Among others, I observed one with this notable 
memorial : 

"Here lies the body of T. B." 

This fanatical desire, of being remembered only by the two 
first letters of a name, led me into the contemplation of the vanity 
and imperfect attainments of ambition in general. When I run 
back in my imagination all the men whom I have ever known and 
conversed with in my whole Ufe, there are but very few who have 
not used their faculties in the pursuit of what it is impossible to 
acquire; or left the possession of what they might have been, at 
their setting out, masters, to search for it where it was out of their 
reach. In this thought it was not possible to forget the instance 
of Pyrrhus, who proposing to himself in discourse with a philosopher, 
one, and another, and another conquest, was asked, what he would 
after all that? "Then," says the king, "we will make merry." 
He was well answered, " What hinders you doing that in the condi- 
tion you are already?" The restless desire of exerting themselves 
above the common level of mankind is not to be resisted in some 
tempers ; and minds of this make may be observed in every condition 
of life. Where such men do not make to themselves, or meet with 
employment, the soil of their constitution runs into tares and weeds. 
An old friend of mine, who lost a major's post forty years ago, and 
quitted, has ever since studied maps, encampments, retreats, and 
counter-marches; with no other design but to feed his spleen and 
ill-humour, and furnish himself with matter for arguing against all 
the successful actions of others. He that, at his first setting out in 
III 



THE TATLER 

the world, was the gayest man in our regiment; ventured his life 
with alacrity, and enjoyed it with satisfaction ; encouraged men be- 
low him, and was courted by men above him, has been ever since 
the most froward creature breathing. His warm complexion spends 
itself now only in a general spirit of contradiction ; for which he 
watches all occasions, and is in his conversation still upon centry, 
treats all men like enemies, with every other impertinence of a 
speculative warrior. 

He, that observes in himself this natiu-al inquietude, should take 
all imaginable care to put his mind in some method of gratification ; 
or he will soon find himself grow into the condition of this disap- 
pointed major. Instead of courting proper occasions to rise above 
others, he will be ever studious of pulUng others down to him: it 
being the common refuge of disappointed ambition, to ease them- 
selves by detraction. It would be no great argument against 
ambition, that there are such mortal things in the disappointment 
of it; but it certainly is a forcible exception, that there can be no 
soHd happiness in the success of it. If we value popular praise, it 
is in the power of the meanest of the people to disturb us by calumny. 
If the fame of being happy, we cannot look into a village, but we 
see crowds in actual possession of what we seek only the appearance. 
To this may be added, that there is I know not what malignity in 
the minds of ordinary men, to oppose you in what they see you 
fond of; and it is a certain exception against a man's receiving 
applause, that he visibly courts it. However, this is not only the 
passion of great and undertaking spirits; but you see it in the lives of 
such as, one would believe, were far enough removed from the ways 
of ambition. The rural esquires of this nation even eat and drink 
out of vanity. A vain-glorious fox-hunter shall entertain half a 
county, for the ostentation of his beef and beer, without the least 
affection for any of the crowd about him. He feeds them, because 
he thinks it a superiority over them that he does so; and they devoiir 
him, because they know he treats them out of insolence. This 
indeed is ambition in grotesque; but may figiu-e to us the condition 
of politer men, whose only pursuit is glory. When the superior 
acts out of a principle of vanity, the dependent will be sure to allow 
it him ; because he knows it destructive of the very applause which 
is courted by the man who favours him, and consequently makes 
him nearer himself. 

But as every man Uving has more or less of this incentive, which 

112 



THE TATLER 

makes men impatient of an inactive condition, and urges men to 
attempt what may tend to their reputation; it is absolutely neces- 
sary they should form to themselves an ambition, which is in every 
man's power to gratify. This ambition would be independent, 
and would consist only in acting what, to a man's own mind, 
appears most great and laudable. It is a pursuit in the power of 
every man, and is only a regular prosecution of what he himself 
approves. It is what can be interrupted by no outward accidents; 
for no man can be robbed of his good intention. One of our society 
of the Trumpet therefore started last night a notion, which I 
thought had reason in it. "It is, methinks," said he, "an un- 
reasonable thing, that honest virtue should, as it seems to be at 
present, be confined to a certain order of men, and be attainable 
by none but those whom fortune has elevated to the most conspicu- 
ous stations. I would have everything to be esteemed as heroic, 
which is great and uncommon in the circumstances of the man who 
performs it." Thus there would be no virtue in human life, which 
every one of the species would not have a pretence to arrive at, and 
an ardency to exert. Since fortune is not in our power, let us be as 
httle as possible in hers. Why should it be necessary that a man 
should be rich, to be generous? If we measured by the quality 
and not the quantity of things, the particulars which accompany 
an action is what should denominate it mean or great. The high- 
est station of human hfe is to be attained by each man that pretends 
to it: for any man can be as valiant, as generous, as wise, and as 
merciful, as the faculties and opportunities which he has from 
heaven and fortune will permit. He that can say to himself, " I do 
as much good, and am as virtuous as my most earnest endeavours 
will allow me," whatever is his station in the world, is to himself 
possessed of the highest honour. If ambition is not thus turned, it 
is no other than a continual succession of anxiety and vexation. 
But when it has this cast, it invigorates the mind ; and the conscious- 
ness of its own worth is a reward, which is not in the power ofenv}', 
reproach, or detraction, to take from it. Thiis the seat of solid 
honour is in a man's own bosom: and no one can want support who 
is in possession of an honest conscience, but he who would suffer 
the reproaches of it for other greatness. 



"3 



THE TATLER 



FLATTERY AS AN ART 
No. 208.] TUESDAY, August 8, 17 10. [Steele.] 

Si dixeris aestuo, sudat. Juv. Sat. iii. 103. 

If you complain of heat, 

They rub th' unsweating brow, and swear they sweat. 

AN old acquaintance, who met me this morning, seemed over- 
joyed to see me, and told me I looked as well as he had known 
me do these forty years; "but," continued he, "not quite the man 
you were, when we visited together at lady Brightly's. Oh ! Isaac, 
those days are over. Do you think there are any such fine crea- 
tures now living, as we then conversed with?" He went on with a 
thousand incoherent circumstances, which, in his imagination, 
must needs please me; but they had the quite contrary effect. The 
flattery with which he began, in telling me how well I wore, was 
not disagreeable; but his indiscreet mention of a set of acquaintance 
we had outHved, recalled ten thousand things to my memory, which 
made me reflect upon my present condition with regret. Had he 
indeed been so kind as, after a long absence, to felicitate me upon 
an indolent and easy old age; and mentioned how much he and I 
had to thank for, who at our time of day could walk firmly, eat 
heartily, and converse cheerfully, he had kept up my pleasure in 
myself. But of all mankind, there are none so shocking as these in- 
judicious civil people. They ordinarily begin upon something, 
that they know must be a satisfaction; but then, for fear of the im- 
putation of flattery, they follow it with the last thing in the world of 
which you would be reminded. It is this that perplexes civil per- 
sons. The reason that there is such a general outcry among us 
against flatterers is, that there are so very few good ones. It is the 
nicest art in this Ufe, and is a part of eloquence which does not want 
the preparation that is necessary to aU other parts of it, that your 
audience should be your weU- wishers: for praise from an enemy is 
the most pleasing of aU commendations. 

It is generally to be observed, that the person most agreeable to a 
man /or a constancy is he that has no shining quaUties, but is a cer- 
tain degree above great imperfections; whom he can Uve with as his 
inferior, and who will either overlook, or not observe his little de- 

114 



THE TATLER 

fects. Such an easy companion as this either now and then throws 
out a little flattery, or lets a man silently flatter himself in his supe- 
riority to him. If you take notice, there is hardly a rich man in the 
world, who has not such a led friend of small consideration, who is a 
darling for his insignificancy. It is a great ease to have one in our 
own shape a species below us, and who, without being Ufted in our 
service, is by nature of oiu" retinue. These dependents are of ex- 
cellent use on a rainy day, or when a man has not a mind to dress; 
or to exclude soUtude, when one has neither a mind to that or to 
company. There are of this good-natured order, who are so kind 
as to divide themselves, and do these good ofl5ces to many. Five 
or six of them visit a whole quarter of the town, and exclude the 
spleen, without fees, from the families they frequent. If they do 
not prescribe physic, they can be company when you take it. Very 
great benefactors to the rich, or those whom they call people at 
their ease, are your persons of no consequence. I have known 
some of them, by the help of a Httle cunning, make dehcious flatter- 
ers. They know the course of the town, and the general characters 
of persons: by Ihis means they wiU sometimes tell the most agree- 
able falsehoods imaginable. They will acquaint you, that such a 
one of a quite contrary party said, " That though you were engaged 
in different interests, yet he had the greatest respect for your good 
sense and address." When one of these has a Uttle cunning, he 
passes his time in the utmost satisfaction to himself and his friends : 
for his position, is never to report or speak a displeasing thing to his 
friend. As for letting him go on in an error, he knows, advice 
against them is the ofl&ce of persons of greater talents and less dis- 
cretion. 

The Latin word for a flatterer, assentator, implies no more than a 
person that barely consents; and indeed such a one, if a man were 
able to purchase or maintain him, cannot be bought too dear. Such 
a one never contradicts you ; but gains upon you, not by a fulsome 
way of commending you in broad terms, but liking whatever you 
propose or utter; at the same time, is ready to beg your pardon, 
and gainsay you, if you chance to speak ill of yourself. An old 
lady is very seldom without such a companion as this, who can re- 
cite the names of all her lovers, and the matches refused by her in 
the days when she minded such vanities, as she is pleased to call 
them, though she so much approves the mention of them. It is to 
be noted, that a woman's flatterer is generally elder than herself; 

"5 



THE TATLER 

her years serving at once to recommend her patroness's age, and to 
add weight to her complaisance in all other particulars. 

We gentlemen of small fortunes are extremely necessitous in this 
particular. I have indeed one who smokes with me often ; but his 
parts are so low, that all the incense he does me is to fill his pipe with 
me, and to be out at just as many whiffs as I take. This is all the 
praise or assent that he is capable of; yet there are more hours when 
I would rather be in his company, than in that of the brightest man 
I know. It would be an hard matter to give an account of this in- 
clination to be flattered ; but if we go to the bottom of it, we shall 
fmd, that the pleasure in it is something hke that of receiving money 
which lay out. Every man thinks he has an estate of reputation, 
and is glad to see one that will bring any of it home to him. It is no 
matter how dirty a bag it is conveyed to him in, or by how clownish a 
messenger, so the money be good. All that we want, to be pleased 
with flattery, is to believe that the man is sincere who gives it us. 
It is by this one accident, that absurd creatures often out-run the 
most skilful in this art. Their want of abihty is here an advantage; 
and their bluntness, as it is the seeming effect of sincerity, is the best 
cover to artifice. 

Terence introduces a flatterer talking to a coxcomb, whom he 
cheats out of a liveHhood ; and a third person on the stage makes on 
him this pleasant remark, " This fellow has an art of making fools 
madmen." The love of flattery is, indeed, sometimes the weakness 
of a great mind ; but you see it also in persons, who otherwise dis- 
cover no manner of relish of any thing above mere sensuahty. 
These latter it sometimes improves ; but always debases the former. 
A fool is in himself the object of pity, until he is flattered. By the 
force of that, his stupidity is raised into affectation, and he becomes 
of dignity enough to be ridiculous. I remember a droll, that upon 
one's saying, " The times are so ticklish, that there must great care 
be taken what one says in conversation"; answered with an air of 
surliness and honesty, " If people wiU be free, let them be so in the 
manner that I am, who never abuse a man but to his face." He 
had no reputation for saying dangerous truths; therefore when it 
was repeated, "You abuse a man but to his face?" "Yes," says 
he, " I flatter him." 

It is indeed the greatest of injuries to flatter any but the unhappy, 
or such as are displeased with themselves for some infirmity. In 
this latter case we have a member of our club, who, when Sir Jeffery 
ii6 



THE TATLER 

falls asleep, wakens him with snoring. This makes Sir Jeffery hold 
up for some moments the longer to see there are men younger than 
himself among us, who are more lethargic than he is. 

When flattery is practised upon any other consideration, it is the 
most abject thing in nature; nay, I cannot think of any character 
below the flatterer, except he that envies him. You meet with fel- 
lows, prepared to be as mean as possible in their condescensions and 
expressions; but they want persons and talents to rise up to such a 
baseness. As a coxcomb is a fool of parts, so is a flatterer a knave 
of parts. 

The best of this order, that I know, is one who disguises it under 
a spirit of contradiction or reproof. He told an arrant driveller 
the other day, that he did not care for being in company with him, 
because he heard he turned his absent friends into ridicule. And 
upon lady Autumn's disputing with him about something that 
happened at the Revolution, he replied with a very angry tone, 
"Pray, madam, give me leave to know more of a thing in which I 
was actually concerned, than you who were then in your nurse's 
arms." 



ON ADVERTISEMENTS 

No, 224, THURSDAY, September 14, 1710. [Addison.] 

Materiam superabat opus. Ovid. Met. ii. 5. 

The matter equall'd not the artist's skill. 

IT is my custom, in a dearth of news, to entertain myself with 
those collections of advertisements that appear at the end of 
all our pubhc prints. These I consider as accounts of news from 
the little world, in the same manner that the foregoing parts of the 
paper are from the great. If in one we hear that a sovereign prince 
is fled from this capital city, in the other we hear of a tradesman 
who hath shut up his shop, and run away. If in one we find the 
victory of a general , in the other we see the desertion of a private 
soldier. I must confess I have a certain weakness in my temper, 
that is often very much affected by these little domestic occiurences, 
117 



THE TATLER 

and have frequently been caught with tears in my eyes over a mel- 
ancholy advertisement. 

But to consider this subject in its most ridiculous lights, advertise- 
ments are of great use to the vulgar. First of all, as they are instru- 
ments of ambition. A man that is by no means big enough for the 
Gazette, may easily creep into the advertisements; by which means 
we often see an apothecary in the same paper of news with a pleni- 
potentiary, or a rimning-foot-man with an ambassador. An ad- 
vertisement from Piccadilly goes down to posterity with an article 
from Madrid, and John Bartlett of Goodman's-fields is celebrated 
in the same paper with the emperor of Germany. Thus the fable 
tells us, that the wren mounted as high as the eagle, by getting upon 
his back. 

A second use which this sort of writings hath been turned to of 
late years, has been the management of controversy; insomuch that 
above half the advertisements one meets with now-a-days are purely 
polemical. The inventors of "Strops for razors" have written 
against one another this way for several years, and that with great 
bitterness ; as the whole argument pro and con in the case of " the 
morning gown" is still carried on after the same manner. I need 
not mention the several proprietors of Dr. Anderson's pills; nor 
take notice of the many satirical works of this nature so frequently 
published by Dr. Clark, who has had the confidence to advertise 
upon that learned knight, my very worthy friend, Sir William Read: 
but I shall not interpose in their quarrel : Sir WiUiam can give him 
his own in advertisements, that, in the judgment of the impartial, 
are as well penned as the doctor's. 

The third and last use of these writings is to inform the world, 
where they may be furnished with almost every thing that is neces- 
sary for life. If a man has pains in his head, colics in his bowels, 
or spots in his cloaths, he may here meet with proper cures and 
remedies. If a man would recover a wife or a horse that is stolen 
or strayed; if he wants new sermons, electuaries, asses' milk, or 
anything else, either for his body or his mind; this is the place to 
look for them in. 

The great art in writing advertisements, is the finding out a 
proper method to catch the reader's eye, without which a good 
thing may pass over unobserved, or be lost among commissions of 
bankrupts. Asterisks and hands were formerly of great use for 
this purpose. Of late years the N. B. has been much in fashion, 
ii8 



THE TATLER 

as also little cuts and figures, the invention of which we must ascribe 
to the author of spring-trusses. I must not here omit the blind 
ItaUan character, which, being scarce legible, always fixes and 
detains the eye, and gives the curious reader something like the 
satisfaction of prying into a secret. 

But the great skill in an advertiser is chiefly seen in the style 
which he makes use of. He is to mention "the universal esteem, 
or general reputation," of things that were never heard of. If he 
is a physician or astrologer, he must change his lodgings frequently; 
and, though he never saw any body in them besides his own family, 
give public notice of it, "for the information of the nobiUty and 
gentry." Since I am thus usefully employed in writing criticisms 
on the works of these diminutive authors, I must not pass over in 
silence an advertisement, which has lately made its appearance, 
and is written altogether in a Ciceronian manner. It was sent to 
me, with five shillings, to be inserted among my advertisements; 
but as it is a pattern of good writing in this way, I shall give it a 
place in the body of my paper. 

"The highest compounded spirit of lavender, the most glorious, 
if the expression may he used, enhvening scent and flavour that can 
possibly be, which so raptures the spirits, delights the gust, and 
gives such airs to the countenance, as are not to be imagined but 
by those that have tried it. The meanest sort of the thing is 
admired by most gentlemen and ladies; but this far more, as by 
far it exceeds it, to the gaining among all a more than common 
esteem. It is sold, in neat flint bottles fit for the pocket, only at 
the golden Key in WTiarton's coiirt, near Holboum-bars, for three 
shillings and six-pence, with directions." 

At the same time that I recommend the several flowers in which 
this spirit of lavender is wrapped up, if the expression may be used, 
I cannot excuse my fellow-labom^ers for admitting into their papers 
several uncleanly advertisements, not at all proper to appear in the 
works of polite writers. Among these I must reckon the " Carmina- 
tive Wind-expelhng Pills." If the doctor had called them only 
his Carminative Pills, he had been as cleanly as one could have 
wished; but the second word entirely destroys the decency of the 
first. There are other absurdities of this nature so very gross, 
that I dare not mention them; and shall therefore dismiss this 
subject with a pubhc admonition to Michael Parrot, That he do 
not presume any more to mention a certain worm he knows of, 
119 



THE TATLER 

which, by the way, has grown seven feet in my memory ; for, if I am 
not much mistaken, it is the same that was but nine feet long about 
six months ago. 

By the remarks I have here made, it plainly appears that a collec- 
tion of advertisements is a kind of miscellany; the writers of which, 
contrary to all authors, except men of quality, give money to the 
booksellers who publish their copies. The genius of the bookseller 
is chiefly shewn in his method of ranging and digesting these Uttle 
tracts. The last paper I took up in my hand places them in the 
following order: — 

The true Spanish blacking for shoes, &c. 

The beautifying cream for the face, &c. 

Pease and plaisters, &c. 

Nectar and Ambrosia, &c. 

Four freehold tenements of fifteen pounds per annum, &c. 

Annotations upon the Tatler, &c. 

The present state of England, &c. 

A commission of bankruptcy being awarded against B. L,, book- 
seller, &c. 



ADVENTURES OF A SHILLING 

No. 249.] SATURDAY, November ii, 17 10. [Addison.] 

Per varios casus, per tot discrimina rerum, 

Tendimus. ViRG. 

I WAS last night visited by a friend of mine, who has an inex- 
haustible fund of discourse, and never fails to entertain his 
company with a variety of thoughts and hints that are altogether 
new and uncommon. Whether it were in complaisance to my way 
of living, or his real opinion, he advanced the following paradox, 
"That it required much greater talents to fill up and become a 
retired life, than a life of business." Upon this occasion he rallied 
very agreeably the busy men of the age, who only valued themselves 
for being in motion, and passing through a series of trifling and 
insignificant actions. In the heat of his discourse, seeing a piece of 
money lying on my table, I defy (says he) any of these active persons 
to produce half the adventures that this twelve penny piece has 



THE TATLER 

been engaged in, were it possible for him to give us an account of 
his hfe." 

My friend's talk made so odd an impression upon my mind, that 
soon after I was a-bed I fell insensibly into a most unaccountable 
reverie, that had neither moral nor design in it, and cannot be so 
properly called a dream as a delirium. 

Methoughts the shilling that lay upon the table reared itself upon 
its edge, and turning the face towards me, opened its mouth, and in 
a soft silver sound, gave me the following account of his life and 
adventures : 

"I was bom (says he) on the side of a moimtain, near a little 
village of Peru, and made a voyage to England in an ingot, under 
the convoy of Sir Francis Drake. I was, soon after my arrival, 
taken out of my Indian habit, refined, naturalized, and put into the 
British mode, with the face of Queen Elizabeth on one side, and the 
arms of the covmtry on the other. Being thus equipped, I found 
in me a wonderful incHnation to ramble, and visit all parts of the 
new world into which I was brought. The people very much 
favoured my natiu-al disposition, and shifted me so fast from hand 
to hand, that before I was five years old, I had travelled into almost 
every comer of the nation. But in the beginning of my sixth year, to 
my unspeakable grief, I fell into the hands of a miserable old fellow, 
who clapped me into an iron chest, where I foxmd five hundred 
more of my own quality who lay under the same confinement. The 
only relief we had, was to be taken out and coimted over in the 
fresh air every moming and evening. After an imprisonment of 
several years, we heard somebody knocking at our chest, and 
breaking it open with a hammer. This we found was the old 
man's heir, who, as his father lay a dying, was so good as to come 
to our release : he separated us that very day. What was the fate 
of my companions I know not: as for myself, I was sent to the 
apothecary's shop for a pint of sack. The apothecary gave me to 
an herb-woman, the herb-woman to a butcher, the butcher to a 
brewer, and the brewer to his wife, who made a present of me to a 
nonconformist preacher. After this manner I made my way merrily 
through the world ; for, as I told you before, we shillings love nothing 
so much as travelling. I sometimes fetched in a shoulder of mutton, 
sometimes a play-book, and often had the satisfaction to treat a 
Templar at a twelvepenny ordinary, or carry him, with three friends, 
to Westminster Hall. 



THE TATLER 

"In the midst of this pleasant progress which I made from place 
to place, I was arrested by a superstitious old woman, who shut me 
up in a greasy purse, in pursuance of a foolish saying, 'That while 
she kept a Queen Elizabeth's shilling about her, she should never 
be without money.' I continued here a close prisoner for many 
months, till at last I was exchanged for eight and forty farthings. 

" I thus rambled from pocket to pocket till the beginning of the 
civil wars, when, to my shame be it spoken, I was employed in 
raising soldiers against the king: for being of a very tempting 
breadth, a sergeant made use of me to inveigle coxmtry fellows, and 
list them in the service of the parliament. 

"As soon as he had made one man sure, his way was to oblige 
him to take a shilling of a more homely figure, and then practise 
the same trick upon another. Thus I continued doing great mis- 
chief to the crown, till my ofi&cer, chancing one morning to walk 
abroad earlier than ordinary, sacrificed me to his pleasures, and 
made use of me to seduce a milk-maid. This wench bent me, and 
gave me to her sweetheart, applying more properly than she in- 
tended the usual form of, 'To my love and from my love.' This 
imgenerous gallant marrying her within a few days after, pawned 
me for a dram of brandy, and drinking me out next day, I was 
beaten flat with a hammer, and again set a rimning. 

"After many adventiires, which it would be tedious to relate, I 
was sent to a young spendthrift, in company with the will of his 
deceased father. The young fellow, who I found was very extrava- 
gant, gave great demonstrations of joy at the receiving of the will; 
but opening it, he found himself disinherited and cut off from the 
possession of a fair estate by virtue of my being made a present to 
him. This put him into such a passion, that after having taken 
me in his hand, and cursed me, he squirred me away from him as 
far as he could fling me. I chanced to light in an unfrequented 
place imder a dead wall, where I lay imdiscovered and useless, 
during the usiirpation of Oliver Cromwell. 

"About a year after the king's return, a poor cavalier that was 
walking there about dinner-time, fortunately cast his eye upon me, 
and, to the great joy of us both, carried me to a cook's shop, where 
he dined upon me, and drank the king's health. When I came 
again into the world, I found that I had been happier in my retire- 
ment than I thought, having probably, by that means, escaped 
wearing a monstrous pair of breeches. 



THE TATLER 

"Being now of great credit and antiquity, I was rather looked 
upon as a medal than an ordinary coin; for which reason a gamester 
laid hold of me, and converted me to a counter, having got together 
some dozens of us for that use. We led a melancholy life in his 
possession, being busy at those hours wherein current coin is at 
rest, and partaking the fate of our master, being in a few moments 
valued at a crown, a pound, or a sixpence, according to the situa- 
tion in which the fortune of the cards placed us. I had at length 
the good luck to see my master break, by which means I was again 
sent abroad under my primitive denomination of a shilling. 

"I shall pass over many other accidents of less moment, and 
hasten to that fatal catastrophe, when I fell into the hands of an 
artist, who conveyed me under ground, and with an unmerciful 
pair of shears, cut off my titles, cUpped my brims, retrenched my 
shape, rubbed me to my inmost ring, and, in short, so spoiled and 
pillaged me, that he did not leave me worth a groat. You may 
think what a confusion I was in, to see myself thus curtailed and 
disfigured. I should have been ashamed to have shovm my head, 
had not all my old acquaintance been reduced to the same shameful 
figure, excepting some few that were punched through the belly. 
In the midst of this general calamity, when everybody thought 
our misfortune irretrievable, and our case desperate, we were 
thrown into the furnace together, and (as it often happens with 
cities rising out of a fire) appeared with greater beauty and lustre 
than we could ever boast of before. WTiat has happened to me 
since this change of sex which you now see, I shall take some other 
opportunity to relate. In the mean time, I shall only repeat two 
adventures, as being very extraordinary, and neither of them having 
ever happened to me above once in my Hfe. The first was, my 
being in a poet's pocket, who was so taken with the brightness and 
novelty of my appearance, that it gave occasion to the finest bur- 
lesque poem in the British language, entitled from me, ' The Splen- 
did Shining.' The second adventure, which I must not omit, 
happened to me in the year 1703, when I was given away in charity 
to a bhnd man ; but indeed this was by a mistake, the person who 
gave me having heedlessly thrown me into the hat among a penny- 
worth of farthings." 



123 



THE TATLER 

FROZEN WORDS 

No, 254.] THURSDAY, November 23, 17 10. [Addison.] 

Splendid^ mendax . HOR. 2 Od. iii. 35. 

Gloriously false . 

THERE are no books which I more dehght in than in travels, 
especially those that describe remote countries, and give the 
writer an opportunity of shewing his parts without incurring any 
danger of being examined or contradicted. Among all the authors 
of tliis kind, our reno\^Tied countryman, Sir John Mande\ile has 
distinguished himself, by the copiousness of his invention, and the 
greatness of his genius. The second to Sir John I take to have 
been, Ferdinand Mendez Pinto, a person of infinite adventure, 
and imboimded imagination. One reads the voyages of these 
two great wits, with as much astonishment as the travels of Ulysses 
in Homer, or of the Red-Cross Knight in Spenser. All is enchanted 
ground, and fairy-land. 

I have got into my hands, by great chance, several manuscripts 
of these two eminent authors, which are filled with greater wonders 
than any of those they have communicated to the pubhc; and indeed, 
were they not so well attested, they would appear altogether improb- 
able. I am apt to think the ingenious authors did not publish 
them with the rest of their works, lest they should pass for fictions 
and fables: a caution not unnecessary, when the reputation of their 
veracity was not yet estabUshed in the world. But as this reason 
has now no farther weight, I shall make the pubUck a present of 
these curious pieces, at such times as I shall find myself unpro- 
\'ided w^th other subjects. 

The present paper I intend to fill with an extract from Sir John's 
Journal, in which that learned and worthy knight gives an account 
of the freezing and thawing of several short speeches, which he 
made in the territories of Nova Zembla. I need not inform my 
reader, that the author of Hudibras alludes to this strange quality 
in that cold chmate, when, speaking of abstracted notions cloathed 
in a visible shape, he adds that apt simile, 

"Like words congeal'd in northern air." 

124 



THE TATLER 

Not to keep my reader any longer in suspense, the relation put 
into modem language, is as follows: 

"We were separated by a storm in the latitude of seventy-three, 
insomuch, that only the ship which I was in, with a Dutch and 
French vessel, got safe into a creek of Nova Zembla. We landed, 
in order to refit our vessels, and store ourselves with provisions. 
The crew of each vessel made themselves a cabin of turf and wood, 
at some distance from each other, to fence themselves against the 
inclemencies of the weather, which was severe beyond imagination. 
We soon observed, that in talking to one another we lost several of 
oiu" words, and could not hear one another at above two yards 
distance, and that too when we sat very near the fire. After much 
perplexity, I found that our w^ords froze in the air before they could 
reach the ears of the persons to whom they were spoken. I was 
soon confirmed in this conjecture, when, upon the increase of the 
cold, the whole company grew dumb, or rather deaf; for every man 
was sensible, as we afterwards foimd, that he spoke as well as ever; 
but the sounds no sooner took air than they were condensed and 
lost. It was now a miserable spectacle to see us nodding and gaping 
at one another, every man talking, and no man heard. One might 
observe a seaman that could hail a ship at a league's distance, 
beckoning with his hand, straining his lungs, and tearing his throat; 
but all in vain: 

' Nee vox nee verba sequuntur. 

'Nor voiee, nor words ensued. 

"We continued here three weeks in this dismal pUght. At length, 
upon a turn of wind, the air about us began to thaw. Our cabin 
was immediately filled with a dry clattering sound, which I after- 
wards found to be the crackling of consonants that broke above our 
heads, and were often mixed with a gentle hissing, which I imputed 
to the letter s, that occurs so frequently in the English tongue. I 
soon after felt a breeze of whispers rushing by my ear; for those, 
being of a soft and gentle substance, immediately liquefied in the 
warm wind that blew across our cabin. These were soon followed 
by syllables and short words, and at length by entire sentences, that 
melted sooner or later, as they were more or less congealed ; so that 
we now heard everything that had been spoken during the whole 
three weeks that we had been silent, if I may use that expression. 
It was now very early in the morning, and yet, to my surprise, I 

125 



THE TATLER 

heard somebody say, 'Sir John, it is midnight, and time for the 
ship's crew to go to-bed.' This I knew to be the pilot's voice ; and, 
upon recollecting myself, I concluded that he had spoken the 
words to me some days before, though I could not hear them imtil 
the present thaw. My reader will easily imagine how the whole 
crew was amazed to hear every man talking, and see no man open- 
ing his mouth. In the midst of this great surprise we were all in, 
we heard a volley of oaths and curses, lasting for a long while, and 
uttered in a very hoarse voice, which I knew belonged to the boat- 
swain, who was a very choleric fellow, and had taken his opportunity 
of cursing and swearing at me, when he thought I could not hear 
him; for I had several times given him the strappado on that account, 
as I did not fail to repeat it for these pious soliloquies, when I got 
him on ship-board. 

"I must not omit the names of several beauties in Wapping, 
which were heard every now and then, in the midst of a long sigh 
that accompanied them; as, 'Dear Kate!' 'Pretty Mrs. Peggy!' 
'When shall I see my Sue again!' This betrayed several amomrs 
which had been concealed until that time, and furnished us with a 
great deal of mirth in our return to England. 

"When this confusion of voices was pretty well over, though I 
was afraid to offer at speaking, as fearing I should not be heard, I 
proposed a visit to the Dutch cabin, which lay about a mile farther 
up in the country. My crew were extremely rejoiced to find they 
had again recovered their hearing; though every man uttered his 
voice with the same apprehensions that I had done, 

' Et timidfe verba intermissa retentat. 

'And try'd his tongue, his silence softly broke. 

"At about half-a-mile's distance from our cabin we heard the 
groanings of a bear, which at first startled us; but, upon enquiry, 
we were informed by some of our company, that he was dead, and 
now lay in salt, having been killed upon that very spot about a fort- 
night before, in the time of the frost. Not far from the same place, 
we were hkewise entertained with some posthumous snarls, and 
barkings of a fox. 

"We at length arrived at the Uttle Dutch settlement; and, upon 
entering the room, found it filled with sighs that smelt of brandy, 
and several other unsavoury sounds, that were altogether inarticu- 
late. My valet, who was an Irishman, fell into so great a rage at 
126 



THE TATLER 

what he heard, that he drew his sword ; but not knowing where to lay 
the blame, he put it up again. We were stunned with these confused 
noises, but did not hear a single word until about half-an-hour after ; 
which I ascribed to the harsh and obdurate sounds of that language, 
which wanted more time than ours to melt, and become audible. 

" After having here met with a very hearty welcome, we went to the 
cabin of the French, who, to make amends for their three weeks 
silence, were talking and disputing with greater rapidity and con- 
fusion than I ever heard in an assembly, even of that nation. Their 
language, as I found, upon the first giving of the weather, fell 
asunder and dissolved. I was here convinced of an error, into 
which I had before fallen ; for I fancied, that for the freezing of the 
sound, it was necessary for it to be \\Tapped up, and, as it were, pre- 
served in breath; but I found my mistake when I heard the sound of 
a kit playing a minuet over our heads. I asked the occasion of it ; 
upon which one of the company told me that it would play there 
above a week longer; 'for,' says he, 'finding ourselves bereft of 
speech, we prevailed upon one of the company, who had his musical 
instrument about him, to play to us from morning to night; all 
which time was employed in dancing in order to dissipate our 
chagrin, &= tiier le temps.' " 

Here Sir John gives very good philosophical reason, why the kit 
could not be heard during the frost; but, as they are something pro- 
lix, I pass them over in silence, and shall only observe, that the 
honourable author seems, by his quotations, to have been well 
versed in the antient poets, which perhaps raised his fancy above 
the ordinary pitch of historians, and very much contributed to the 
embellishment of his writings. 



LATE HOURS 
No. 263.] THURSDAY, December 14, 17 10. [Steele.] 

Minima, contentos nocte Britannos. Juv. Sat. ii. 161. 
Britons contented with the shortest night. 

AN old friend of mine being lately come to town, I went to see him 
on Tuesday last about eight o'clock in the evening, with a 
design to sit with him an hour or two, and talk over old stories ; but, 
upon enquiry after him, I found he was gone to-bed. The next 
127 



THE TATLER 

morning, as soon as I was up and dressed, and had dispatched a 
little business, I came again to my friend's house about eleven 
o'clock, with a design to renew my visit ; but, upon asking for him, 
his servant told me he was just sat down to dinner. In short, I 
found that my old-fashioned friend religiously adhered to the 
example of his forefathers, and observed the same hours that had 
been kept in the family ever since the Conquest. 

It is very plain, that the night was much longer formerly in this 
island than it is at present. By the night, I mean that portion of 
time which nature has thrown into darkness, and which the wisdom 
of mankind had formerly dedicated to rest and silence. This used 
to begin at eight o'clock in the evening, and conclude at six in the 
morning. The curfeu, or eight o'clock bell, was the signal through- 
out the nation for putting out their candles and going to-bed. 

Our grandmothers, though they were wont to sit up the last in 
the family, were all of them fast asleep at the same hours that their 
daughters are busy at crimp and basset. Modem statesmen are 
concerting schemes, and engaged in the depth of politics at the 
time when their forefathers were laid down quietly to rest, and had 
nothing in their heads but dreams. As we have thus thrown busi- 
ness and pleasure into the hours of rest, and by that means made 
the natural night but half as long as it should be, we are forced to 
piece it out with a great part of the morning; so that near two-thirds 
of the nation lie fast asleep for several hours in broad daylight. 
This irregularity is grown so very fashionable at present, that there 
is scarce a lady of quality in Great Britain that ever saw the sun 
rise. And, if the humour increases in proportion to what it has 
done of late years, it is not impossible but our children may hear 
the bell-man going about the streets at nine o'clock in the morn- 
ing, and the watch making their rounds until eleven. This unac- 
countable disposition in mankind to continue awake in the night, 
and sleep in the sunshine, has made me enquire, whether the same 
change of inclination has happened to any other animals? For 
this reason, I desired a friend of mine in the country to let me know, 
whether the lark rises as early as he did formerly; and whether 
the cock begins to crow at his usual hour. My friend has answered 
me, "that his poultry are as regular as ever, and that all the birds 
and beasts of his neighbourhood keep the same hours that they 
have observed in the memory of man; and the same which, in all 
probability, they have kept for these five thousand years." 
128 



THE TATLER 

If you would see the innovations that have been made among 
us in this particular, you may only look into the hours of colleges, 
where they still dine at eleven, and sup at six, which were doubtless 
the hours of the whole nation at the time when those places were 
founded. But at present, the courts of justice are scarce opened 
in Westminster-hall at the time when William Rufus used to go to 
dinner in it. All business is driven forward. The land-marks 
of our fathers, if I may so call them, are removed, and planted 
farther up into the day; insomuch, that I am afraid om- clergy will 
be obliged, if they expect full congregations, not to look any more 
upon ten o'clock in the morning as a canonical hour. In my own 
memory, the dinner has crept by degrees from twelve o'clock to 
three, and where it will fix nobody knows. 

I have sometimes thought to draw up a memorial in the behalf 
of supper against dinner, setting forth, that the said dinner has 
made several encroachments upon the said supper, and entered 
very far upon his frontiers ; that he has banished him out of several 
families, and in all has driven him from his head quarters, and 
forced him to make his retreat into the hours of midnight: and, in 
short, that he is now in danger of being entirely confounded and 
lost in a breakfast. Those who have read Lucian, and seen the 
complaints of the letter T against S, upon account of many injuries 
and usurpations of the same nature, will not, I believe, think such 
a memorial forced and unnatural. If dinner has been thus post- 
poned, or, if you please, kept back from time to time, you may be 
sure that it has been in compliance with the other business of the 
day, and that supper has still observed a proportionable distance. 
There is a venerable proverb, which we have all of us heard in our 
infancy of " putting the children to-bed, and laying the goose to 
the fire." This was one of the jocular sayings of our forefathers, 
but may be properly used in the Hteral sense at present. Who 
would not wonder at this perverted relish of those who are reckoned 
the most polite part of mankind, that prefer sea-coals and candles 
to the sun, and exchange so many cheerful morning hours, for the 
pleasures of midnight revels and debauches? If a man was cnly 
to consult his health, he would choose to hve his whole time, if 
possible, in day-light; and to retire out of the world into silence 
and sleep, while the raw damps and unwholesome vapours fly 
abroad, without a sun to disperse, moderate, or controul them. 
For my own part, I value an hour in the morning as much as 
129 



THE TATLER 

common libertines do an hour at midnight. When I find myself 
awakened into being, and perceive my life renewed within me, 
and at the same time see the whole face of nature recovered out of 
the dark uncomfortable state in which it lay for several hours, my 
heart overflows with such secret sentiments of joy and gratitude, 
as are a kind of implicit praise to the great author of nature. The 
mind, in these early seasons of the day, is so refreshed in all its 
faculties, and borne up with such new supplies of animal spirits, 
that she finds herself in a state of youth, especially when she is 
entertained with the breath of flowers, and melody of birds, the 
dews that hang upon the plants, and all those other sweets of 
nature that are peculiar to the morning. 

It is impossible for a man to have this relish of being, this exqui- 
site taste of life, who does not come into the world before it is in all 
its noise and hiu-ry; who loses the rising of the sim, the still hours of 
the day, and, immediately upon his first getting up, plunges him- 
self into the ordinary cares or follies of the world. 



ON LONG-WINDED PEOPLE 

No. 264.] DECEMBER 16, 17 10. [Steele.] 

Favete lingms. Hor. Od. iii. 2. 2. 

Favour your tongues. 

BOCCALINI, in his "Parnassus," indicts a laconic writer for 
speaking that in three words which he might have said in two, 
and sentences him for his punishment to read over all the works of 
Guicciardini. This Guicciardini is so very prolix and circumstan- 
tial in his writings, that I remember our countryman, doctor Donne, 
speaking of that majestic and concise manner in which Moses has 
described the creation of the world, adds, " that if such an author 
as Guicciardini were to have v^Titten on such a subject, the world 
itself would not have been able to have contained the books that 
gave the history of its creation." 

I look upon a tedious talker, or what is generally known by the 
name of a story-teller, to be much more insufferable than even a 
proUx writer. An author may be tossed out of your hand, and 
130 



THE TATLER 

thrown aside when he grows dull and tiresome; but such liberties 
are so far from being allowed towards your orators in common 
conversation, that I have known a challenge sent a person for going 
out of the room abruptly, and lea^^ng a man of honour in the midst 
of a dissertation. This evil is at present so very common and 
epidemical, that there is scarce a coffee-house in town that has not 
some speakers belonging to it, who utter their political essays, and 
draw parallels out of Baker's "Chronicle," to almost every part of 
her majesty's reign. It was said of two ancient authors, who had 
very different beauties in their style, " that if you took a word from 
one of them, you only spoiled his eloquence ; but if you took a word 
from the other, you spoiled his sense." I have often applied the 
first part of this criticism to several of these coffee-house speakers 
whom I have at present in my thoughts, though the character that 
is given to the last of those authors, is what I would recommend to 
the imitation of my loving countrymen. But it is not only public 
places of resort, but private clubs and conversations over a bottle, 
that are infested with this loquacious kind of animal, especially 
with that species which I comprehend under the name of a story- 
teller. I would earnestly desire these gentlemen to consider, that 
no point of wit or mirth at the end of a story can atone for the half 
hoiu- that has been lost before they come at it. I would likewise 
lay it home to their serious consideration, whether they think that 
every man in the company has not a right to speak as well as them- 
selves ? and whether they do not think they are invading another 
man's property, when they engross the time which should be divided 
equally among the company to their own private use? 

What makes this evil the much greater in conversation is, that 
these humdrum companions seldom endeavour to wind up their 
narrations into a point of mirth or instruction, which might make 
some amends for the tediousness of them; but think they have a 
right to tell any thing that has happened within their memory. 
They look upon matter of fact to be a sufficient foundation for a 
story, and give us a long account of things, not because they are 
entertaining or surprising, but because they are true. 

My ingenious kinsman Mr. Humphrey Wagstaff, used to say, 
"the life of man is too short for a story-teller." 

Methusalem might be half an hour in telling what o'clock it was : 
but as for us postdiluvians, we ought to do everything in haste; and 
in our speeches, as well as actions, remember that our time is short. 

131 



THE TATLER 

A man that talks for a quarter of an hour together in company, if I 
meet him frequently, takes up a great part of my span. A quarter 
of an hour may be reckoned the eight-and-fortieth part of a day, a 
day the three hundred and sixtieth part of a year, and a year the 
threescore and tenth part of hfe. By this moral arithmetic, suppos- 
ing a man to be in the talking world one third part of the day, 
whoever gives another a quarter of an hour's hearing, makes him a 
sacrifice of more than the four hundred thousandth part of his 
conversable life. 

I would establish but one great general rule to be observed in all 
conversation, which is this, "that men should not talk to please 
themselves, but those that hear them." This would make them 
consider, whether what they speak be worth hearing; whether there 
be either wit or sense in what they are about to say; and, whether it 
be adapted to the time when, the place where, and the person to 
whom, it is spoken. 

For the utter extirpation of these orators and story-tellers, which 
I look upon as very great pests of society, I have invented a watch 
which divides the minute into twelve parts, after the same manner 
that the ordinary watches are divided into hours: and will endeavour 
to get a patent, which shall obUge every club or company to provide 
themselves with one of these watches, that shall lie upon the table, 
as an hour-glass is often placed near the pulpit, to measure out the 
length of a discourse. 

I shall be willing to allow a man one round of my watch, that is, 
a whole minute, to speak in ; but if he exceeds that time, it shall be 
lawful for any of the company to look upon the watch, or to call 
him down to order. 

Provided, however, that if any one can make it appear he is 
turned of threescore, he may take two, or, if he pleases, three rounds 
of the watch without giving offence. Provided, also, that this rule 
be not construed to extend to the fair sex, who shall still be at Hberty 
to talk by the ordinary watch that is now in use. I would Hkewise 
earnestly recommend this Uttle automaton, which may be easily 
carried in the pocket without any incumbrance, to all such as are 
troubled with this infirmity of speech, that upon pulUng out their 
watches, they may have frequent occasion to consider what they 
are doing, and by that means cut the thread of the story short, and 
hurry to a conclusion. I shall only add, that this watch, with a 
paper of directions how to use it, is sold at Charles Lillie's. 
132 



THE TATLER 

I am afraid a Tatler will be thought a very improper paper to 
censure this humour of being talkative; but I would have my readers 
know that there is a great difference between tattle and loquacity, 
as I shall show at large in a following lucubration; it being my 
design to throw away a candle upon that subject, in order to explain 
the whole art of tatthng in all its branches and subdivisions. 



ON THE ART OF GROWING OLD 

No. 266.] THURSDAY, December 21, 17 10. [Steele.] 

Rideat et pulset lasciva decentiiis aetas. 

HoR. 2 Ep. ii. ult. 

Let youth, more decent in their follies, scoff 
The nauseous scene, and hiss thee reeling off. 

IT would be a good appendix to " The art of Living and Dying," 
if any one would write "The Art of growing Old," and teach 
men to resign their pretensions to the pleasures and gallantries of 
youth, in proportion to the alteration they find in themselves by the 
approach of age and infirmities. The infirmities of this stage of 
life would be much fewer, if we did not affect those which attend the 
more vigorous and active part of our days ; but instead of studying 
to be wiser, or being contented with our present follies, the ambi- 
tion of many of us is also to be the same sort of fools we formerly 
have been. I have often argued, as I am a professed lover of 
women, that our sex grows old with a much worse grace than the 
other does ; and have ever been of opinion that there are more well- 
pleased old women, than old men. I thought it a good reason for 
this, that the ambition of the fair sex being confined to advantageous 
marriages, or shining in the eyes of men, their parts were over sooner 
and consequently the errors in the performance of them. The 
conversation of this evening has not convinced me of the contrary; 
for one or two fop-women shall not make a balance for the crowds 
of coxcombs among ourselves, diversified according to the different 
pursuits of pleasure and business. 

Returning home this evening a little before my usual hour, I 
scarce had seated myself in my easy chair, stirred the fire, and 

133 



THE TATLER 

stroked my cat, but I heard somebody come rumbling up stairs. I 
saw my door opened, and a human figure advancing towards me, 
so fantastically put together, that it was some minutes before I dis- 
covered it to be my old and intimate friend Sam Trusty. Immedi- 
ately I rose up, and placed him in my o\A-n seat; a compliment I 
pay to few. The first thing he uttered was, '' Isaac, fetch me a cup 
of your cherry-brandy before you offer to ask any question." He 
drank a lusty draught, sat silent for some time, and at last broke 
out; "I am come," quoth he, "to insult thee for an old fantastic 
dotard, as thou art, in ever defending the women. I have tliis eve- 
ning \isited two widows, who are now in that state I have often 
heard you call an afkr-life; I suppose you mean by it, an existence 
which grows out of past entertainments, and is an mitimely delight 
in the satisfactions which they once set their hearts upon too much 
to be ever able to rehnquish. Have but patience," continued he, 
" imtil I give you a succinct account of my ladies, and of this night's 
adventure. They are much of an age, but very different in their 
characters. The one of them, with all the advances which years 
have made upon her, goes on m a certain romantic road of love and 
friendsliip which she fell into in her teens; the other has trans- 
ferred the amorous passions of her first years to the love cronies, 
petts, and favourites, with which she is always surrounded ; but the 
genius of each of them will best appear by the account of what hap- 
pened to me at their houses. About five this afternoon, being tired 
with study, the weather in\iting, and time hing a little upon my 
hands, I resolved at the instigation of my e^-il genius, to \isit them; 
their husbands ha\-ing been our contemporaries. This I thought 
I could do without much trouble; for both live in the very next 
street. I went first to my lady Camomile; and the butler, who had 
lived long in the family, and seen me often in his master's time, 
ushered me very ci\-illy into the parlour, and told me, though my 
lady had given strict orders to be denied, he was sure I might be 
admitted, and bid the black boy acquaint his lady, that I was come 
to wait upon her. In the window lay two letters, one broke open, 
the other fresh sealed with a wafer: the first directed to the di\Tne 
Cosmeha, the second to the charming Lucinda; but both by the 
indented characters, appeared to have been writ by very imsteady 
hands. Such imcommon addresses increased my curiosity, and 
put me upon asking my old friend the butler, if he knew who those 
persons were? "Very well," says he, "this is from Mrs. Furbish 

134 



THE TATLER 

to my lady, an old school-fellow and a great crony of her ladyship's; 
and this the answer." I enquired in what country she lived. " Oh 
dear!" says he, "but just by, in the neighbourhood. Why, she 
was here all this morning, and that letter came and was answered 
within these two hours. They have taken an odd fancy, you must 
know, to call one another hard names; but, for all that, they love 
one another hugely." By this time the boy returned with his lady's 
humble service to me, desiring I would excuse her; for she could not 
possibly see me, nor any body else, for it was opera night." 

"Methinks," says I, "such innocent folly as two old women's 
courtship to each other, should rather make you merry than put 
you out of humour." "Peace, good Isaac," says he, "no interrup- 
tion, I beseech you. I got soon to Mrs. Feeble's, she that was form- 
erly Betty Frisk; you must needs remember her; Tom Feeble of 
Brazen Nose fell in love with her for her fine dancing. Well, Mrs. 
Ursula, without farther ceremony, carries me directly up to her 
mistress's chamber, where I found her environed by four of the 
most mischievous animals that can ever infest a family; an old 
shock dog with one eye, a monkey chained to one side of the chim- 
ney, a great grey squirrel to the other, and a parrot waddling in the 
middle of the room. However, for a while, all was in a profound 
tranquillity. Upon the mantel-tree, for I am a pretty curious ob- 
server, stood a pot of lambetive electuary, with a stick of liquorice, 
and near it a phial of rose-water, and powder of tutty. Upon the 
table lay a pipe filled with betony and colt's foot, a roll of wax- 
candle, a silver spitting-pot, and a Seville orange. The lady was 
placed in a large wicker-chair, and her feet wrapped up in flannel, 
supported by cushions; and in this attitude, would you believe it, 
Isaac, was she reading a romance with spectacles on. The first 
compliments over, as she was industriously endeavouring to enter 
upon conversation, a violent fit of coughing seized her. This 
awaked Shock, and in a trice the whole room was in an uproar; 
for the dog barked, the squirrel squealed, the monkey chattered, 
the parrot screamed, and Ursula, to appease them, was more clam- 
orous than all the rest. You, Isaac, who know how any harsh noise 
affects my head, may guess what I suffered from the hideous din of 
these discordant sounds. At length all was appeased, and quiet 
restored: a chair was drawn for me; where I was no sooner seated, 
but the parrot fixed his homy beak, as sharp as a pair of sheers, in 
one of my heels, just above the shoe. I sprung from the place with 

135 



THE TATLER 

an unusual agility, and so, being within the monkey's reach, he 
snatches off my new bob-wig, and throws it upon two apples that 
were roasting by a sullen sea-coal fire. I was nimble enough to 
save it from any farther damage than singeing the foretop. I put it 
on; and composing myself as well as I could, I drew my chair to- 
wards the other side of the chimney. The good lady, as soon as 
she had recovered breath, employed it in making a thousand apol- 
ogies, and, with great eloquence, and numerous train of words, la- 
mented my misfortune. In the middle of her harangue, I felt 
something scratching near my knee, and feeling what it should be, 
found the squirrel had got into my coat-pocket. As I endeavoured to 
remove him from his burrow, he made his teeth meet through the 
fleshy part of my forefinger. This gave me an un expressible pain. 
The Hungary water was immediately brought to bathe it, and 
goldbeater's skin applied to stop the blood. The lady renewed her 
excuses; but being now out of all patience, I abruptly took my leave, 
and hobbling downstairs with heedless haste, I set my foot full in a 
pail of water, and dowTi we came to the bottom together." Here 
my friend concluded his narrative, and, with a composed counte- 
nance, I began to make him compliments of condolence; but he 
started from his chair, and said, "Isaac, you may spare your 
speeches, I expect no reply. WTien I told you this, I kjiew you 
would laugh at me; but the next woman that makes me ridiculous 
shall be a young one." 



136 



ADDISON 



ADDISON 

From THACKERAY'S "ENGLISH HUMORISTS' 



ADDISON'S father was a clergy-man of good repute in Wiltshire, 
and rose in the church. His famous son never lost his clerical 
training and scholastic gravity, and was called "a parson in a 
tye-wig" in London afterwards at a time when tye-wigs were only 
worn by the laity, and the fathers of theology did not think it decent 
to appear except in a full bottom. Having been as school at Salis- 
bury, and the Charterhouse, in 1687, when he was fifteen years old, 
he went to Queen's College, Oxford, where he speedily began to 
distinguish himself by the making of Latin verses. The beautiful 
and fanciful poem of "The Pigmies and the Cranes," is still read 
by lovers of that sort of exercise ; and verses are extant in honor of 
King William, by which it appears that it was the loyal youth's 
custom to toast that sovereign in bumpers of purple Lyaeus: many 
more works are in the Collection, including one on the Peace of 
Ryswick, in 1697, which was so good that Montague got him a 
pension of 300/. a year, on which Addison set out on his travels. 

During his ten years at Oxford, Addison had deeply imbued 
himself with the Latin poetical literature, and had these poets at 
his fingers' ends when he travelled in Italy. His patron went out 
of office, and his pension was impaid: and hearing that this great 
scholar, now eminent and known to the literati of Europe (the great 
Boileau, upon perusal of Mr. Addison's elegant hexameters, was 
first made aware that England was not altogether a barbarous 
nation) — hearing that the celebrated Mr. Addison, of Oxford, 
proposed to travel as governor to a young gentleman on the grand 
tour, the great Duke of Somerset proposed to Mr. Addison to 
accompany his son. Lord Hartford. 

Mr. Addison was dehghted to be of use to his Grace, and his 
lordship his Grace's son, and expressed himself ready to set forth. 

His Grace the Duke of Somerset now announced to one of the 

139 



ADDISON 

most famous scholars of Oxford and Europe that it was his gracious 
intention to allow my Lord Hartford's tutor one hundred guineas 
per annum. Mr. Addison wrote back that his services were his 
Grace's, but he by no means found his account in the recompense 
for them. The negotiation was broken off. They parted with a 
profusion of congees on one side and the other. 

Addison remained abroad for some time, living in the best society 
of Europe. How could he do otherwise ? He must have been one 
of the finest gentlemen the world ever saw: at all moments of life 
serene and courteous, cheerful and calm. He could scarcely ever 
have had a degrading thought. He might have omitted a virtue 
or two, or many, but could not have had many faults committed 
for which he need blush or turn pale. When warmed into con- 
fidence, his conversation appears to have been so delightful that 
the greatest wits sat rapt and charmed to hsten to him. No man 
bore poverty and narrow fortune with a more lofty cheerfulness. 
His letters to his friends at this period of his life, when he had lost 
his Government pension and given up his college chances, are full 
of courage and a gay confidence and philosophy: and they are none 
the worse in my eyes, and I hope not in those of his last and greatest 
biographer (though Mr. Macauley is bound to own and lament a 
certain weakness for wine, which the great and good Joseph Addison 
notoriously possessed, in common with countless gentlemen of his 
time)», because some of the letters are written when his honest hand 
was shaking a little in the morning after libations to purple Lyasus 
over-night. He was fond of drinking the healths of his friends: 
he writes to Wyche, of Hamburg, gratefully remembering Wyche's 
" hoc." " I have been drinking your health to-day with Sir Richard 
Shirley," he writes to Bathurst. "I have lately had the honor to 
meet my Lord Effingham at Amsterdam, where we have drunk Mr. 
Wood's health a hundred times in excellent champagne," he writes 
again. Swift describes him over his cups, when Joseph yielded to 
a temptation which Jonathan resisted. Joseph was of a cold 
nature, and needed perhaps the fire of wine to warm his blood. If 
he was a parson, he wore a tye-wig, recollect, A better and more 
Christian man scarcely ever breathed than Joseph Addison. If he 
had not that little weakness for wine — why, we could scarcely have 
foimd a fault with him, and could not have liked him as we do. 

At thirty-three years of age, this most distinguished wit, scholar, 
and gentleman was without a profession and an income. His 
140 



ADDISON 

book of "Travels" had failed: his "Dialogues on Medals" had no 
particular success; his Latin verses, even though reported the best 
since Virgil, or Statius at any rate, had not brought him a Govern- 
ment place, and Addison was living up three shabby pairs of stairs 
in the Haymarket (in a poverty over which old Samuel Johnson 
rather chuckles), when in these shabby rooms an emissary from 
Government and Fortune came and found him. A poem was 
wanted about the Duke of Marlborough's victory of Blenheim. 
Would Mr. Addison write one? Mr. Boyle, afterwards Lord 
Carleton, took back the reply to the Lord Treasurer Godolphin, 
that ]Mr. Addison would. When the poem had reached a certain 
stage, it was carried to Godolphin ; and the last lines which he read 
were these : — 

"But, O my Muse! what numbers wilt thou find 
To sing the furious troops in battle join'd ? 
Methinks I hear the drum's tumultuous sound 
The victor's shouts and dying groans confound; 
The dreadful burst of cannon rend the skies, 
And all the thunder of the battle rise. 
'Twas then great Marlborough's mighty soul was proved, 
That, in the shock of charging hosts unmoved, 
Amidst confusion, hon-or, and despair. 
Examined all the dreadful scenes of war: 
In peaceful thought the field of death surveyed, 
To fainting squadrons sent the timely aid, 
Inspired repulsed battalions to engage, 
And taught the doubtful battle where to rage. 
So when an angel, by divine command, 
With rising tempests shakes a guilty land 
(Such as of late o'er pale Britannia passed). 
Calm and serene he drives the furious blast; 
And, pleased the Almighty's orders to perform, 
Rides in the whirlwind and directs the storm." 

Addison left off at a good moment. That simile was pronounced 
to be of the greatest ever produced in poetry. That angel, that good 
angel, flew off with Mr. Addison, and landed him in the place of 
Commissioner of Appeals — vice Mr. Locke providentially pro- 
moted. In the following year Mr. Addison went to Hanover with 
Lord Halifax, and the year after was made Under Secretary of 
State. O angel vishs! you come "few and far between" to literary 
gentlemen's lodgings! Yovu- wings seldom quiver at second-floor 
windows now ! 

141 



ADDISON 

You laugh ? You think it is in the power of few writers now-a- 
days to call up such an angel ? Well, perhaps not ; but permit us to 
comfort ourselves by pointing out that there are in the poem of the 
"Campaign" some as bad lines as heart can desire: and to hint 
that Mr. Addison did very wisely in not going further with my 
Lord Godolphin than that angeU al simile. Do allow me, just for 
a little harmless mischief , to read you some of the lines which foUow. 
Here is the interview between the Duke and the King of the Romans 
after the battle: — 

"Austria's young monarch, whose imperial sway 
Sceptres and thrones are destined to obey, 
Whose boasted ancestry so high extends 
That in the Pagan Gods his lineage ends. 
Comes from afar, in gratitude to own 
The great supporter of his father's throne. 
What tides of glory to his bosom ran 
Clasped in th' embraces of the godhke man! 
How were his eyes with pleasing wonder fixt, 
To see such fire with so much sweetness mixt! 
Such easy greatness, such a graceful port, 
So turned and finished for the camp or court!" 

How many fourth-form boys at Mr. Addison's school of Charter- 
house could write as well as that now? The "Campaign" has 
blunders, triumphant as it was; and weak points Like aU campaigns. 

In the year 1713 "Cato" came out. Swift has left a description 
of the first night of the performance. AU the laurels of Europe 
were scarcely sufficient for the author of this prodigious poem. 
Laudations of Whig and Tory chiefs, popular ovations, compU- 
mentary garlands from literary men, translations in all languages, 
delight and homage from all — save from John Dennis in a minority 
of one. Mr. Addison was called the "great Mr. Addison" after 
this. The Coffee-house Senate saluted him Divus: it was heresy 
to question that decree. 

Meanwhile he was writing poHtical papers and advancing in the 
pohtical profession. He went Secretary to Ireland. He was 
appointed Secretary of State in 1717. And letters of his are extant, 
bearing date some year or two before, and written to young Lord 
Warwick, in which he addresses him as "my dearest lord," and 
asks affectionately about his studies, and writes very prettily about 
nightingales and birds'-nests, which he has found at Fulham for his 
lordship. Those nightingales were intended to warble in the ear 
142 



ADDISON 

of Lord Warwick's mamma. Addison married her ladyship in 
1 716; and died at Holland House three years after that splendid 
but dismal union. 

But it is not for his reputation as the great author of "Cato" 
and the " Campaign," or for his merits as Secretary of State, or for 
his rank and high distinction as my Lady Warwick's husband, or 
for his eminence as an Examiner of pohtical questions on the Whig 
side, or a Guardian of British Uberties, that we admire Joseph 
Addison. It is as a Tatler of small talk and a Spectator of mankind, 
that we cherish and love him, and owe as much pleasure to him as 
to any human being that ever wTote. He came in that artificial 
age, and began to speak with his noble, natural voice. He came, 
the gentle satirist, who hit no unfair blow, the kind judge who 
castigated only in smihng. While Swift went about, hanging and 
ruthless — a hterary Jeffreys — in Addison's kind court only minor 
cases were tried: only peccadilloes and small sins against society: 
only a dangerous libertinism in tuckers and hoops; or a nuisance in 
the abuse of beaux' canes and snuff-boxes. It may be a lady is 
tried for breaking the peace of our sovereign lady Queen Anne, and 
ogHng too dangerously from the side-box; or a Templar for beating 
the watch, or breaking Priscian's head: or a citizen's wife for caring 
too much for the puppet-show, and too httle for her husband and 
children : every one of the Uttle sinners brought before him is amus- 
ing, and he dismisses each with the plea san test penalties and the 
most charming words of admonition. 

Addison wrote his papers as gayly as if he was going out for a 
holiday. When Steele's "Tatler" first began his prattle, Addison, 
then in Ireland, caught at his friend's notion, poured in paper after 
paper, and contributed the stores of his mind, the sweet fruits of his 
reading, the delightful gleanings of his daily observation, with a 
wonderful profusion, and as it seemed an almost endless fecundity. 
He was six-and-thirty years old : full and ripe. He had not worked 
crop after crop from his brain, manuring hastily, subsoiling indiffer- 
ently, cutting and sowing and cutting again, Uke other luckless 
cultivators of letters. He had not done much as yet; a few Latin 
poems — graceful prolusions; a pohte book of travels; a dissertation 
on medals, not very deep; four acts of a tragedy, a great classical 
exercise; and the "Campaign," a large prize poem that won an 
enormous prize. But with his friend's discovery of the "Tatler," 
Addison's calling was found, and the most dehghtful talker in the 

143 



ADDISON 

world began to speak. He does not go very deep : let gentlemen of a 
profound genius, critics accustomed to the plunge of the bathos, 
console themselves by thinking that he couldn't go very deep. There 
are no traces of suffering in his writing. He was so good, so honest, 
so healthy, so cheerfully selfish, if I must use the word. There is 
no deep sentiment. I doubt, until after his marriage, perhaps, 
whether he ever lost his night's rest or his day's tranquillity about 
any woman in his hfe; whereas poor Dick Steele had capacity 
enough to melt, and to languish, and to sigh, and to cry his honest 
old eyes out, for a dozen. His writings do not show insight into or 
reverence for the love of women, which I take to be, one the conse- 
quence of the other. He walks about the world watching their 
pretty humors, fashions, follies, flirtations, rivalries; and noting 
them with the most charming archness. He sees them in public, in 
the theatre, or the assembly, or the puppet-show; or at the toyshop 
higgling for gloves and lace; or at the auction, batthng together over 
a blue porcelain dragon, or a darling monster in Japan ; or at church, 
eyeing the width of their rivals' hoops, or the breadth of their laces, 
as they sweep down the aisles. Or he looks out of his window at 
the "Garter" in St. James's Street, at Ardelia's coach, as she 
blazes to the drawing-room with her coronet and six footmen; and 
remembering that her father was a Turkey merchant in the city, 
calculates how many sponges went to purchase her ear-ring, and how 
many drums of figs to build her coach-box; or he demurely watches 
behind a tree in Spring Garden as Saccharissa (whom he knows 
under her mask) trips out of her chair to the alley where Sir Fopling 
is waiting. He sees only the public life of women. Addison was 
one of the most resolute club-men of his day. He passed many 
hours daily in those haunts. Besides drinking — which, alas! is 
past praying for — you must know it, he owned, too, ladies, that he 
indulged in that odious practice of smoking. Poor fellow ! He was 
a man's man, remember. The only woman he did know, he didn't 
write about. I take it there would not have been much humor in 
that story. 

He likes to go and sit in the smoking-room at the " Grecian," 
or the "Devil"; to pace 'Change and the Mall — to mingle in that 
great club of the world — sitting alone in it somehow : having good- 
will and kindness for every single man and woman in it — having 
need of some habit and custom binding him to some few; never 
doing any man a wrong (unless it be a wrong to hint a little doubt 
144 



ADDISON 

about a man's parts, and to damn him with faint praise); and so 
he looks on the world and plays with the ceaseless humors of all of 
us — laughs the kindest laugh — points our neighbor's foible or 
eccentricity out to us with the most good-natured, smiling confidence ; 
and then, turning over his shoulder, whispers our foibles to our 
neighbor. What would Sir Roger de Coverley be without his follies 
and his charming little brain-cracks ? If the good knight did not 
call out to the people sleeping in church, and say "Amen" with 
such a delightful pomposity: if he did not make a speech in the 
assize-court apropos de hottes, and merely to show his dignity to 
Air. Spectator: if he did not mistake Madam Doll Tearsheet for a 
lady of quality in Temple Garden : if he were wiser than he is : if 
he had not his humor to salt his life, and were but a mere English 
gentleman and game -preserver — of what worth were he to us? 
We love him for his vanities as much as his virtues. What is 
ridiculous is delightful in him; we are so fond of him because we 
laugh at him so. And out of that laughter, and out of that sweet 
weakness, and out of those harmless eccentricities and follies, and 
out of that touched brain, and out of that honest manhood and 
simplicity — we get a result of happiness, goodness, tenderness, 
pity, piety; such as, if my audience will think their reading and 
hearing over, doctors and divines but seldom have the fortune to 
inspire. And why not? Is the glory of Heaven to be sung only 
by gentlemen in black coats ? Must the truth be only expounded 
in gown and surplice, and out of those two vestments can nobody 
preach it ? Commend me to this dear preacher without orders — 
this parson in the tye-wig. When this man looks from the world, 
whose weaknesses he describes so benevolently, up to the Heaven 
which shines over us all, I can hardly fancy a human face lighted up 
with a more serene rapture: a human intellect thrilling with a 
purer love and adoration than Joseph Addison's. Listen to him: 
from your childhood you have known the verses : but who can hear 
their sacred music without love and awe ? — 

" Soon as the evening shades prevail, 
The moon takes up the wondrous tale, 
And nightly to the listening earth 
Repeats the stor}' of her birth; 
Whilst all the stars that round her bum, 
And all the planets in their turn, 
Confirm the tidings as they roll, 
And spread the truth from pole to pole. 



ADDISON 

What though, in solemn silence, all 
Move round the dark terrestrial ball; 
What though no real voice nor sound 
Amid their radiant orbs be found; 
In reason's ear they all rejoice, 
And utter forth a glorious voice, 
For ever singing as they shine. 
The hand that made us is divine." 

It seems to me those verses shine Hke the stars. They shine 
out of a great deep calm. When he turns to Heaven a Sabbath 
comes over that man's mind: and his face hghts up from it with a 
glory of thanks and prayer. His sense of religion stirs through his 
whole being. In the fields, in the town: looking at the birds in the 
trees: at the children in the streets: in the morning or in the moon- 
light : over his books in his own room : in a happy party at a country 
merry-making or a town assembly, good -will and peace to God's 
creatures, and love and awe of Him who made them, fill his pure 
heart and shine from his kind face. If Swift's life was the most 
wretched, I think Addison's was one of the most enviable. A life 
prosperous and beautiful — a calm death — an immense fame 
and affection afterwards for his happy and spotless name. 



146 



THE SPECTATOR 



THE SPECTATOR 



POPULAR SUPERSTITIONS 

No. 7.] THURSDAY, March 8, 1710-11. [Addison.] 

Somnia, terrores magicos, miracula, sagas, 
Nocturnes lemures, portentaque Thessala rides? 

HoR. 2 Ep. ii. 208. 

Visions, and magic spells, can you despise. 
And laugh at witches, ghosts, and prodigies? 

GOING yesterday to dine with an old acquaintance, I had the 
misfortune to find his whole family very much dejected. 
Upon asking him the occasion of it, he told me that his wife had 
dreamt a very strange dream the night before, which they were 
afraid portended some misfortune to themselves or to their children. 
At her coming into the room, I observed a settled melancholy in her 
countenance, which I should have been troubled for, had I not 
heard from whence it proceeded. We were no sooner sat down, 
but, after having looked upon me a little while, " My dear," said 
she, turning to her husband, "you may now see the stranger that 
was in the candle last night." Soon after this, as they began to talk 
of family affairs, a little boy at the lower end of the table told her 
that he was to go into join-hand on Thursday. "Thursday!" says 
she; "no, child; if it please God you shall not begin upon Childer- 
mas-day; tell your writing-master that Friday will be soon enough." 
I was reflecting with myself on the oddness of her fancy, and won- 
dering that anybody would establish it as a rule, to lose adayin every 
week. In the midst of these my musings, she desired me to reach 
her a little salt upon the point of my knife, which I did in such a 
trepidation and hurry of obedience that I let it drop by the way; at 
which she immediately startled, and said it fell towards her. Upon 
this I looked very blank; and, observing the concern of the whole 
table, began to consider myself, with some confusion, as a person 
149 



THE SPECTATOR 

who had brought a disaster upon the family. The lady, however, 
recovering herself after a Uttle space, said to her husband with a 
sigh, "My dear, misfortunes never come single." My friend, I 
found, acted but an under part at his table; and, being a man of 
more good-nature than understanding, thinks himself obUged to 
fall in with all the passions and humours of his yoke-fellow. " Do 
not you remember, child," says she, "that the pigeon-house fell the 
very afternoon that our careless wench spilt the salt upon the table ? " 
— " Yes," says he, " my dear; and the next post brought us an ac- 
count of the battle of Almanza." The reader may guess at the 
figure I made after having done all this mischief. I dispatched my 
dinner as soon as I could with my usual taciturnity; when, to my 
utter confusion, the lady seeing me quitting [wiping] my knife and 
fork, and laying them across one another upon my plate, desired 
me that I would humour her so far as to take them out of that figure, 
and place them side by side. What the absurdity was which I had 
committed I did not know, but I suppose there was some tradition- 
ary superstition in it ; and therefore, in obedience to the lady of the 
house, I disposed of my knife and fork in two parallel Hnes, which 
is the figure I shall always lay them in for the future, though I do 
not know any reason for it. 

It is not difficult for a man to see that a person has conceived an 
aversion to him. For my own part, I quickly found, by the lady's 
looks, that she regarded me as a very odd kind of fellow, with an 
unfortunate aspect: for which reason I took my leave immediately 
after dinner, and withdrew to my own lodgings. Upon my return 
home, I fell into a profound contemplation on the evils that attend 
these superstitious follies of mankind ; how they subject us to imagi- 
nary afflictions, and additional sorrows, that do not properly come 
within our lot. As if the natural calamities of Ufe were not suffi- 
cient for it, we turn the most indifferent circumstances into misfor- 
tunes, and suffer as much from trifling accidents as from real evils. 
I have known the shooting of a star spoil a night's rest; and have 
seen a man in love grow pale, and lose his appetite, upon the pluck- 
ing of a merry-thought. A screech-owl at midnight has alarmed a 
family more than a band of robbers; nay, the voice of a cricket hath 
struck more terror than the roaring of a lion. There is nothing so 
inconsiderable, which may not appear dreadful to an imagination 
that is filled with omens and prognostics : a rusty nail or a crooked 
pin shoot up into prodigies. 

150 



THE SPECTATOR 

I remember I was once in a mixed assembly, that was full of noise 
and mirth, when on a sudden an old woman unluckily observed 
there were thirteen of us in company. This remark struck a panic 
terror into several who were present, insomuch that one or two of 
the ladies were going to leave the room; but a friend of mine, taking 
notice that one of our female companions was big with child, 
affirmed there were fourteen in the room, and that, instead of 
portending one of the company should die, it plainly foretold one 
of them should be bom. Had not my friend fovmd this expedient 
to break the omen, I question not but half the women in the company 
would have fallen sick that very night. 

An old maid that is troubled with the vapours produces infinite 
disturbances of this kind among her friends and neighbours. I 
know a maiden aunt of a great family, who is one of these anti- 
quated Sybils, that forebodes and prophesies from one end of the 
year to the other. She is always seeing apparitions and hearing 
death-watches; and was the other day almost frightened out of 
her wits by the great house-dog that howled in the stable at a time 
when she lay ill of the toothache. Such an extravagant cast of 
mind engages multitudes of people, not only in impertinent terrors, 
but in supernumerary duties of life; and arises from that fear and 
ignorance which are natural to the soul of man. The horror with 
which we entertain the thoughts of death (or indeed of any future 
evil), and the uncertainty of its approach, fill a melancholy mind 
with innumerable apprehensions and suspicions, and consequently 
dispose it to the observation of such groundless prodigies and pre- 
dictions. For as it is the chief concern of wise men to retrench the 
evils of life by the reasonings of philosophy, it is the employment 
of fools to multiply them by the sentiments of superstition. 

For my own part, I should be very much troubled were I endowed 
with this divining quality, though it should inform me truly of 
everything that can befall me. I would not anticipate the relish 
of any happiness, nor feel the weight of any misery, before it actually 
arrives. 

I know but one way of fortifying my soul against these gloomy 
presages and terrors of mind; and that is, by securing to myself 
the friendship and protection of that Being who disposes of events 
and governs futurity. He sees, at one view, the whole thread of 
my existence, not only that part of it which I have abeady passed 
through, but that which runs forward into all the depths of eternity. 

151 



THE SPECTATOR 

When I lay me down to sleep, I recommend myself to his care; 
when I awake, I give myself up to his direction. Amidst all the 
evils that threaten me, I will look up to him for help; and question 
not but he will either avert them, or turn them to my advantage. 
Though I know neither the time nor the manner of the death I am 
to die, I am not at all solicitous about it; because I am sure that He 
knows them both, and that He will not fail to comfort and support 
me under them. 



CLUBS 

No. 9.3 SATURDAY, March 10, 1710-11. [Addison.] 

Tigris agit rabida cum tigride pacem 

Perpetuam, saevis inter se convenit ursis. 

JtJV. Sat. XV. 163. 

Tiger with tiger, bear with bear, you'll find 
In leagues offensive and defensive join'd. 

MAN is said to be a sociable animal, and, as an instance of it, 
we may observe that we take all occasions and pretensions 
of forming ourselves into those little nocturnal assemblies, which are 
commonly known by the name of clubs. When a set of men find 
themselves agree in any particular, though never so trivial, they 
establish themselves into a kind of fraternity, and meet once or 
twice a week upon the account of such a fantastic resemblance. 
I know a considerable market-town in which there was a club of 
fat men, that did not come together (as you may well suppose) to 
entertain one another with sprighlliness and wit, but to keep one 
another in countenance. The room where the club met was some- 
thing of the largest, and had two entrances; the one by a door of 
moderate size, and the other by a pair of folding doors. If a 
candidate for this corpulent club could make his entrance through 
the first, he was looked upon as unqualified ; but if he stuck in the 
passage, and could not force his way through it, the folding doors 
were immediately thrown open for his reception, and he was saluted 
as a brother. I have heard that this club, though it consisted but 
of fifteen persons, weighed above three ton. 
152 



THE SPECTATOR 

In opposition to this society, there sprung up another composed 
of scarecrows and skeletons, who, being very meagre and envious, 
did all they could to thwart the designs of their bulky brethren, 
whom they represented as men of dangerous principles, till at length 
they worked them out of the favour of the people, and consequently 
out of the magistracy. These factions tore the corporation in pieces 
for several years, till at length they came to this accommodation: 
that the two bailiffs of the town should be annually chosen out of 
the two clubs ; by which means the principal magistrates are at this 
day coupled like rabbits, one fat and one lean. 

Every one has heard of the club, or rather the confederacy, of 
the Kings. This grand aUiance was formed a httle after the return 
of King Charles the Second, and admitted into it men of all qualities 
and professions, provided they agreed in this surname of King, 
which, as they imagined, sufficiently declared the owners of it to be 
altogether untainted with repubhcan and anti-monarchical prin- 
ciples. 

A Christian name has likewise been often used as a badge of 
distinction, and made the occasion of a club. That of the George's, 
which used to meet at the sign of the George on St. George's day, 
and swear, " Before George," is still fresh in every one's memory. 

There are at present in several parts of this city what they call 
street clubs, in which the chief inhabitants of the street converse 
together every night. I remember, upon my inquiring after lodg- 
ings in Ormond Street, the landlord, to recommend that quarter 
of the town, told me there was at that time a very good club in it; 
he also told me, upon further discourse with him, that two or three 
noisy country squires, who were settled there the year before, had 
considerably sunk the price of house-rent; and that the club (to 
prevent the like inconveniences for the future) had thoughts of 
taking every house that became vacant into their own hands, till 
they had found a tenant for it of a sociable nature and good con- 
versation. 

The Hum-Drum club, of which I was formerly an unworthy 
member, was made up of very honest gentlemen of peaceable 
dispositions, that used to sit together, smoke their pipes, and say 
nothing till midnight. The Mum club (as I am informed) is an 
institution of the same nature, and as great an enemy to noise. 

After these two innocent societies, I cannot forbear mentioning a 
very mischievous one, that was erected in the reign of King Charles 

153 



THE SPECTATOR 

the Second : I mean the club of Duellists, in which none was to be 
admitted that had not fought his man. The president of it was 
said to have killed half-a-dozen in single combat; and, as for the 
other members, they took their seats according to the number of 
their slain. There was Hkewise a side-table, for such as had only 
drawn blood, and shewn a laudable ambition of taking the first 
opportunity to quaUfy themselves for the first table. This club, 
consisting only of men of honour, did not continue long, most of 
the members of it being put to the sword, or hanged, a little after 
its institution. 

Our modem celebrated clubs are founded upon eating and 
drinking, which are points wherein most men agree, and in which 
the learned and illiterate, the dull and the airy, the philosopher and 
the buffoon, can all of them bear a part. The Kit-cat itself is said 
to have taken its original from a mutton-pie. The Beef-steak and 
October clubs are neither of them averse to eating and drinking, 
if we may form a judgment of them from their respective titles. 

When men are thus knit together by a love of society, not a spirit 
of faction, and do not meet to censure or annoy those that are absent, 
but to enjoy one another; when they are thus combined for their own 
improvement, or for the good of others, or at least to relax themselves 
from the business of the day, by an innocent and cheerful conversa- 
tion, there may be something very useful in these little institutions 
and estabhshments. 

I cannot forbear concluding this paper with a scheme of laws 
that I met with upon a wall in a little alehouse. How I came 
thither I may inform my reader at a more convenient time. These 
laws were enacted by a knot of artizans and mechanics, who used 
to meet every night; and, as there is something in them which gives 
us a pretty picture of low life, I shall transcribe them word for word. 

RULES. 

To he observed in the Two- penny club, erected in this place for the 
preservation of friendship and good neighbourhood. 

I. Every member at his first coming in shall lay down his two- 
pence. 

II. Every member shall fill his pipe out of his own box. 

III. If any member absents himself, he shall forfeit a penny for 
the use of the club, unless in case of sickness or imprisonment. 

154 



THE SPECTATOR 

IV. If any member swears or curses, his neighbour may give him 
a kick upon the shins. 

V. If any member tells stories in the club that are not true, he 
shall forfeit for every third He a halfpenny. 

VI. If any member strikes another wrongfully, he shall pay his 
club for him. 

VII. If any member brings his wife into the club, he shall pay 
for whatever she drinks or smokes. 

VIII. If any member's wife comes to fetch him home from the 
club, she shall speak to him without the door. 

IX. If any member calls another a cuckold, he shall be turned 
out of the club. 

X. None shall be admitted into the club that is of the same trade 
with any member of it. 

XI. None of the club shall have his clothes or shoes made or 
mended, but by a brother member. 

XII. No non-juror shall be capable of being a member. 

The morahty of this Uttle club is guarded by such wholesome 
laws and penalties, that I question not but my reader will be as 
well pleased with them, as he would have been with the Leges 
Convivales of Ben Jonson, the regulations of an old Roman club 
cited by Lipsius, or the rules of a Symposium in an ancient Greek 
author. C. 



THE USES OF THE SPECTATOR 

No. ic] MONDAY, March 12, 1710-11. [Addison.] 

Non aliter quam qui adverse vix flumine lembum 

Remigiis subigit: si brachia forte remisit, 

Atque ilium in praeceps prono rapit alveus amni. — Virg. 

IT is with much satisfaction that I hear this great city inquiring 
day by day after these my papers, and receiving my morning 
lectures with a becoming seriousness and attention. My publisher 
tells me, that there are already three thousand of them distributed 
every day: so that if I allow twenty readers to every paper, which I 
look upon as a modest computation, I may reckon about threescore 
thousand disciples in London and Westminster, who I hope will 

155 



THE SPECTATOR 

take care to distinguish themselves from the thoughtless herd of 
their ignorant and unattentive brethren. Since I have raised to 
myself so great an audience, I shall spare no pains to make their in- 
struction agreeable, and their diversion useful. For which reasons I 
shall endeavour to enliven morality with wit, and to temper wit with 
morality, that my readers may, if possible, both ways find their acV 
count in the speculation of the day. And to the end that their vir- 
tue and discretion may not be short, transient, intermitting starts 
of thought, I have resolved to refresh their memories from day to 
day, tiU I have recovered them out of that desperate state of \-ice 
and folly into which the age is fallen. The mind that lies fallow 
but a single day, sprouts up in follies that are only to be killed by 
a constant and assiduous culture. It was said of Socrates that he 
brought Philosophy down from Heaven, to inhabit among men; 
and I shall be ambitious to have it said of me, that I have brought 
Philosophy out of closets and libraries, schools and colleges, to dwell 
in clubs and assemblies, at tea-tables and in coffee-houses. 

I would therefore in a very particular manner recommend these 
my speculations to all well-regulated families that set apart an hour 
in every morning for tea and bread and butter; and would earnestly 
ad\ise them for their good to order this paper to be punctually 
serA'ed up, and to be looked upon as a part of the tea equipage. 

Sir Francis Bacon observes, that a well-written book, compared 
with its rivals and antagonists, is like ^Moses's serpent, that immedi- 
ately swallowed up and devoured those of the Eg}-ptiana. I shall 
not be so vain as to think that, where the Spectator appears, the 
other public prints will vanish ; but shall leave it to my readers' con- 
sideration, whether, is it not much better to be let into the knowledge 
of one's self, than to hear what passes in ^Muscovy or Poland; and 
to amuse ourselves with such writings as tend to the wearing out of 
ignorance, passion, and prejudice, than such as naturally conduce 
to inflame hatreds, and make enmities irreconcilable ? 

In the next place, I would recommend this paper to the daily pe- 
rusal of those gentlemen whom I cannot but consider as my good 
brothers and allies, I mean the fraternity of Spectators, who live in 
the world without ha\ing anything to do in it ; and either by the 
affluence of their fortimes, or laziness of their dispositions, have no 
other business with the rest of mankind, but to look upon them. 
Under this class of men are comprehended all contemplative trades- 
men, titular physicians, fellows of the Royal Society, Templars that 
1=^6 



THE SPECTATOR 

are not given to be contentious, and statesmen that are out of busi- 
ness; in short, every one that considers the world as a theatre, and 
desires to form a right judgment of those who are the actors on it. 

There is another set of men that I must Hkewise lay a claim to, 
whom I have lately called the blanks of society, as being altogether 
unfurnished with ideas, till the business and conversation of the 
day has supplied them. I have often considered these poor souls 
with an eye of great commiseration, when I have heard them ask- 
ing the first man they have met with, whether there was any news 
stirring? and by that means gathering together materials for 
.thinking. These needy persons do not know what to talk of, till 
about twelve a clock in the morning; for by that time they are 
pretty good judges of the weather, know which way the wind sits, 
and whether the Dutch mail be come in. As they lie at the mercy 
of the first man they meet, and are grave or impertinent all the day 
long, according to the notions which they have imbibed in the 
morning, I would earnestly entreat them not to stir out of their 
chambers till they have read this paper, and do promise them that 
I will daily instil into them such soimd and wholesome sentiments, 
as shall have a good effect on their conversation for the ensuing 
twelve hours. 

But there are none to whom this paper will be more useful, than 
to the female world. I have often thought there has not been suffi- 
cient pains taken in finding out proper employments and diversions 
for the fair ones. 

Their amusements seem contrived for them, rather as they are 
women, than as they are reasonable creatures; and are more adapted 
to the sex than to the species. The toilet is their great scene of 
business, and the right adjusting of their hair the principal employ- 
ment of their lives. The sorting of a suit of ribbons is reckoned 
a very good morning's work; and if they make an excursion to a 
mercer's or a toy-shop, so great a fatigue makes them unfit for any- 
thing else all the day after. Their more serious occupations are 
sewing and embroidery, and their greatest drudgery, the prepara- 
tion of jeUies and sweet-meats. This, I say, is the state of ordinary 
women; though I know there are multitudes of those of a more 
elevated Hfe and conversation, that move in an exalted sphere of 
knowledge and virtue, that join all the beauties of the mind to the 
ornaments of dress, Jlnd inspire a kind of awe and respect, as well 
as love, into their male beholders. I hope to increase the number 

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THE SPECTATOR 

of these by publishing this daily paper, which I shall always en- 
deavour to make an innocent if not an improving entertainment, 
and by that means at least divert the minds of my female readers 
from greater trifles. At tlie same time, as I would fain give some 
tinisliing touches to those which are already the most beautiful 
pieces in human nature, I shall endeavour to point out all those 
imperfections that are the blemishes, as well as those virtues which 
arc the embelhshments. of the sex. In the mean while I hope these 
my gentle readers, who have so much time on their hands, will not 
grudge throwing away a quarter of an hour in a day on this paper, 
since they may do it without any liindrance to business. 

I know several of my friends and well-wishers are in great pain 
for me, lest I should not be able to keep up the spirit of a paper 
wliich I oblige myself to furnish every day: but to make them easy 
in this particular, I will promise them faithfully to give it over as 
soon as I grow dull. This I know will be matter of great raillery 
to the small A\-its; who will frequently put me in mind of my promise, 
desire me to keep my word, assure me that it is high time to give 
over, with many other pleasantries of the like nature, which men 
of a little smart genius cannot forbear tlirowing out against their 
best friends, when they have such a handle gi\en them of being 
witty. But let them remember that I do hereby enter my caveat 
against this piece of railler}-. 



EFFECT OF THE SUPERNATURAL ON 
THE IMAGINATION 

No. I2.J WEDNESDAY, March 14, 1710-11. [.\ddison.] 

Veteres avias tibi de pulmone revello. 

Pers. Sat. V. 92. 
I root th' old woman from thy trembling heart. 

AT my coming to London, it was some time before I could 
settle myself in a house to my Uking. I was forced to quit 
my first lodgings, by reason of an officious landlady, that would be 
asking me every morning how I had slept. I then fell into an 
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THE SPECTATOR 

honest family, and lived very happily for above a week; when 
my landlord, who was a jolly, good-natured man, took it into his 
head that I wanted company, and therefore would frequently come 
into my chamber to keep me from being alone. This I bore for 
two or three days; but telling me one day that he was afraid I was 
melancholy, I thought it was high time for me to be gone, and 
accordingly took new lodgings that very night. About a week 
after, I found my jolly landlord, who, as I said before, was an 
honest, hearty man, had put me into an advertisement of the Daily 
Courant, in the following words: "Whereas a melancholy man left 
his lodgings on Thursday last in the afternoon, and was afterwards 
seen going towards IsHngton; if any one can give notice of him to 
R. B., fishmonger in the Strand, he shall be very well rewarded for 
his pains." As I am the best man in the world to keep my own 
coimsel, and my landlord the fishmonger not knowing my name, 
this accident of my life was never discovered to this very day. 

I am now settled vdth a widow woman, who has a great many 
children, and comphes with my humour in ever)i:hing. I do not 
remember that we have exchanged a word together these five 
years; my coffee comes into my chamber every morning without 
asking for it; if I want fire, I point to my chimney; if water, to my 
bason; upon which my landlady nods, as much as to say she takes 
my meaning, and immediately obeys my signals. She has Ukewise 
modelled her family so well, that when her Httle boy offers to pull 
me by the coat, or prattle in my face, his eldest sister immediately 
calls him off, and bids him not to disturb the gentleman. At my 
first entering into the family, I was troubled with the civility of 
their rising up to me every time I came into the room ; but my land- 
lady obser\ing that upon these occasions I always cried Pish, and 
went out again, has forbidden any such ceremony to be used in the 
house ; so that at present I walk into the kitchen or parlour without 
being taken notice of or giving any interruption to the business or 
discourse of the family. The maid will ask her mistress (though 
I am by) whether the gentleman is ready to go to dinner, as the 
mistress (who is indeed an excellent housewife) scolds at the ser- 
vants as heartily before my face as behind my back. In short, I 
move up and dowTi the house, and enter into all companies, with 
the same liberty as a cat or any other domestic animal, and am as 
little suspected of telhng anything that I hear or see. 

I remember last winter there were several young girls of the 

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THE SPECTATOR 

neighbourhood sitting about the fire with my landlady's daughters, 
and telling stories of spirits and apparitions. Upon my opening 
the door the young women broke off their discoiu-se, but my land- 
lady's daughters telling them that it was nobody but the gentleman 
(for that is the name which I go by in the neighboiu-hood as well as 
in the family), they went on without minding me. I seated myself 
by the candle that stood on a table at one end of the room; and pre- 
tending to read a book that I took out of my pocket, heard several 
dreadful stories of ghosts as pale as ashes that had stood at the 
feet of a bed, or walked over a churchyard by moonlight, and of 
others that had been conjured into the Red Sea, for disturbing 
people's rest, and drawing their curtains at midnight; with many 
other old women's fables of the like nature. As one spirit raised 
another, I observed that at the end of every story the whole com- 
pany closed their ranks, and crowded about the fire. I took 
notice in particular of a little boy, who was so very attentive to every 
story, that I am mistaken if he ventures to go to bed by himself this 
twelvemonth. Indeed they talked so long, that the imaginations 
of the whole assembly were manifestly crazed, and I am sure will 
be the worse for it as long as they live. I heard one of the girls, 
that had looked upon me over her shoulder, asking the company 
how long I had been in the room, and whether I did not look paler 
than I used to do. This put me under some apprehensions that I 
should be forced to explain myself if I did not retire; for which 
reason I took the candle in my hand, and went up into my chamber, 
not without wondering at this unaccountable weakness in reason- 
able creatures, that they should love to astonish and terrify one 
another. Were I a father, I should take a particular care to pre- 
serve my children from these little horrors of imagination, which 
they are apt to contract when they are young, and are not able to 
shake off when they are in years. I have known a soldier that has 
entered a breach, affrighted at his own shadow, and look pale upon 
a little scratching at his door, who the day before had marched up 
against a battery of cannon. There are instances of persons who 
have been terrified, even to distraction, at the figure of a tree, or 
the shaking of a bulrush. The truth of it is, I look upon a sound 
imagination as the greatest blessing of life, next to a clear judgment 
and a good conscience. In the meantime, since there are very few 
whose minds are not more or less subject to these dreadful thoughts 
and apprehensions, we ought to arm ovu-selves against them by 
1 60 



THE SPECTATOR 

the dictates of reason and religion, "to pull the old woman out of 
our hearts" (as Persius expresses it in the motto of my paper), 
and extinguish those impertinent notions which we imbibed at a 
time that we were not able to judge of their absurdity. Or, if we 
believe, as many wise and good men have done, that there are such 
phantoms and apparitions as those I have been speaking of, let us 
endeavour to establish to ourselves an interest in Him who holds 
the reins of the whole creation in His hand, and moderates them 
after such a manner, that it is impossible for one being to break 
loose upon another without His knowledge and permission. 

For my own part, I am apt to join in opinion with those who 
believe that all the regions of nature swarm with spirits; and that 
we have multitudes of spectators on all our actions, when we think 
ourselves most alone; but instead of terrifying myself with such a 
notion, I am wonderfully pleased to think that I am always engaged 
with such an innumerable society, in searching out the wonders of 
the creation, and joining in the same consort of praise and adora- 
tion. 

Milton has finely described this mixed communion of men 
and spirits in paradise; and had doubtless his eye upon a verse in 
old Hesiod, which is almost word for word the same with his third 
line in the following passage : — 

"Nor think, though men were none, 

That heav'n would want spectators, God want praise: 
Millions of spiritual creatures walk the earth 
Unseen, both when we wake and when we sleep; 
All these with ceaseless praise his works behold 
Both day and night. How often from the steep 
Of echoing hill or thicket have we heard 
Celestial voices to the midnight air, 
Sole, or responsive each to other's note, 
Singing their great Creator? Oft in bands, 
While they keep watch, or nightly rounding walk, 
With heav'nly touch of instrumental sounds, 
In full harmonic number join'd, their songs 
Divide the night and lift our thoughts to heav'n." 

c. 



i6i 



THE SPECTATOR 

DRESS AND SHOW 

No. 15.] SATURDAY, March 17, 1710-11. [Addison.] 

Parva leves capiunt animos 

Ovid, Ars. Am. i. 159. 

Light minds are pleas'd with trifles. 

WHEN I was in France, I used to gaze with great astonishment 
at the splendid equipages and party-coloured habits of that 
fantastic nation. I was one day in particular contemplating a lady 
that sat in a coach adorned with gilded cupids, and finely painted 
with the Loves of Venus and Adonis. The coach was drawn by 
six milk-white horses, and loaded behind with the same number of 
powdered footmen. Just before the lady were a couple of beautiful 
pages, that were stuck among the harness, and, by their gay dresses 
and smiling features, looked Hke the elder brothers of the little boys 
that were carved and painted in every comer of the coach. 

The lady was the unfortunate Cleanthe, who afterwards gave an 
occasion to a pretty melancholy novel. She had, for several years, 
received the addresses of a gentleman, whom, after a long and inti- 
mate acquaintance, she forsook, upon the account of this shining 
equipage, which had been offered to her by one of great riches, but 
a crazy constitution. The circumstances in which I saw her, were, 
it seems, the disguises only of a broken heart, and a kind of pagean- 
try to cover distress ; for in two months after she was carried to her 
grave with the same pomp and magnificence, being sent thither 
partly by the loss of one lover, and partly by the possession of 
another. 

I have often reflected with myself on this unaccountable humour 
in womankind, of being smitten with every thing that is showy and 
superficial; and on the numberless evils that befall the sex from 
this light fantastical disposition. I myself remember a young lady 
that was very warmly soHcited by a couple of importunate rivals, 
who, for several months together, did all they could to recommend 
themselves by complacency of behaviour and agreeableness of con- 
versation. At length, when the competition was doubtful, and the 
162 



THE SPECTATOR 

lady undetermined in her choice, one of the young lovers very 
luckily bethought himself of adding a supernumerary lace to his 
liveries, which had so good an effect that he married her the very 
week after. 

The useful conversation of ordinary women very much cherishes 
this natural weakness of being taken with outside and appearance. 
Talk of a new-married couple, and you immediately hear whether 
they keep their coach and six, or eat in plate. Mention the name 
of an absent lady, and it is ten to one but you learn something of her 
gown and petticoat. A ball is a great help to discourse, and a birth- 
day fiunishes conversation for a twelvemonth after. A furbelow of 
precious stones, a hat buttoned with a diamond, a brocade waist- 
coat or petticoat, are standing topics. In short, they consider only 
the drapery of the species, and never cast away a thought on those 
ornaments of the mind that make persons illustrious in themselves 
and useful to others. When women are thus perpetually dazzhng 
one another's imaginations, and filling their heads with nothing but 
colours, it is no wonder that they are more attentive to the super- 
ficial parts of life, than the sohd and substantial blessings of it. A 
girl who has been trained up in this kind of conversation, is in 
danger of every embroidered coat that comes in her way. A pair of 
fringed gloves may be her ruin. In a word, lace and ribands, 
silver and gold galloons, with the like gUttering gewgaws, are so 
many lures to women of weak minds or low educations, and, when 
artificially displayed, are able to fetch down the most airy coquette 
from the wildest of her flights and rambles. 

True happiness is of a retired nature, and an enemy to pomp and 
noise; it arises, in the first place, from the enjoyment of one's self; 
and, in the next, from the friendship and conversation of a few 
select companions; it loves shade and soHtude, and naturally 
haunts groves and fountains, fields and meadows; in short, it feels 
every thing it wants within itself, and receives no additions from 
multitudes of witnesses and spectators. On the contrary, false 
happiness loves to be in a crowd, and to draw the eyes of the world 
upon her. She does not receive any satisfaction from the applauses 
which she gives herself, but from the admiration which she raises in 
others. She flourishes in court and palaces, theatres and assem- 
bUes, and has no existence but when she is looked upon. 

Aurelia, though a woman of great quality, delights in the privacy 
of a country life, and passes away a great part of her time in her 
163 



THE SPECTATOR 

own walks and gardens. Her husband, who is her bosom friend and 
companion in her solitudes, has been in love with her ever since he 
knew her. They both abound with good sense, consummate virtue, 
and a mutual esteem; and are a perpetual entertainment to one 
another. Their family is under so regular an economy, in its hours 
of devotion and repast, employment and diversion, that it looks 
like a little commonwealth within itself. They often go into com- 
pany, that they may return with the greater delight to one another; 
and sometimes live in town, not to enjoy it so properly as to grow 
weary of it, that they may renew in themselves the relish of a country 
life. By this means they are happy in each other, beloved by their 
children, adored by their servants, and are become the envy, or 
rather the dehght, of all that know them. 

How different to this is the life of Fulvia! she considers her 
husband as her steward, and looks upon discretion and good house- 
wifery as Uttle domestic virtues unbecoming a woman of quality. 
She thinks Hfe lost in her own family, and fancies herself out of 
the world, when she is not in the ring, the playhouse, or the drawing- 
room. She Hves in a perpetual motion of body, and restlessness of 
thought, and it is never easy in any one place, when she thinks 
there is more company in another. The missing of an opera the 
first night, would be more afflicting to her than the death of a child. 
She pities all the valuable part of her own sex, and calls every 
woman of a prudent, modest, and retired hfe, a poor-spirited 
unpolished creature. What a mortification would it be to Fulvia, 
if she knew that her setting herself to view is but exposing herself, 
and that she grows contemptible by being conspicuous? 

I cannot conclude my paper, without observing, that Virgil has 
very finely touched upon this female passion for dress and show, in 
the character of Camilla; who, though she seems to have shaken 
off all the other weaknesses of her sex, is still described as a woman 
in this particular. The poet tells us, that, after having made a 
great slaughter of the enemy, she unfortunately cast her eye on a 
Trojan who wore an embroidered tunic, a beautiful coat of mail, 
with a mantle of the finest purple. "A golden bow," says he, 
"hung upon his shoulder; his garment was buckled with a golden 
clasp, and his head covered with a helmet of the same shining 
metal." The Amazon immediately singled out this well-dressed 
Warrior, being seized with a woman's longing for the pretty trappings 
that he was adorned with: 

164 



THE SPECTATOR 

■ Totumque incauta per agmen 

Foemineo praedae et spoliorum ardebat amore." 

This heedless pursuit after these gUttering trifles, the poet (by a 
nice concealed moral) represents to have been the destruction of 
his f err ale hero. C. 



ITALIAN OPERA 

No. i8.] WEDNESDAY, March 21, 1710-11. [Addison.] 

— Equitis quoque jam migravit ab aure voluptas 
Omnis ad incertos oculos et gaudia vana. — HoR. 

But now our nobles too are fops and vain, 
Neglect the sense, but love the painted scene. 

IT is my design in this paper to deliver dov^^n to posterity a 
faithful account of the Italian Opera, and of the gradual pro- 
gress which it has made upon the English stage: For there is no 
question but our great grandchildren will be very curious to know 
the reason why their forefathers used to sit together like an audi- 
ence of foreigners in their own country, and to hear whole plays 
acted before them in a tongue which they did not understand. 

Arsinoe was the first opera that gave us a taste of Italian music. 
The great success this opera met with, produced some attempts of 
forming pieces upon Italian plans, which should give a more natural 
and reasonable entertainment than what can be met with in the 
elaborate trifles of that nation. This alarmed the poetasters and 
fiddlers of the town, who were used to deal in a more ordinary kind 
of ware; and therefore laid down an established rule, which is re- 
ceived as such to this day. That nothing is capable of being well set 
to music, that is not nonsense. 

This maxim was no sooner received, but we immediately fell to 
translating the Italian operas ; and as there was no great danger of 
htirting the sense of those extraordinary pieces, our authors would 
often make words of their own which were entirely foreign to the 
meaning of the passages they pretended to translate; their chief 
care being to make the numbers of the English verse answer to 

165 



THE SPECTATOR 

those of the Italian, that both of them might go to the same tune. 
Thus the famous song in Camilla, 

"Barbara si t' intendo," &c. 
"Barbarous woman, yes, I know your meaning," 

which expresses the resentments of an angry lover, was translated 
into that English lamentation — 

"Frail are a lover's hopes," &c. 

And it was pleasant enough to see the most refined persons of the 
British nation dying away and languishing to notes that were filled 
with a spirit of rage and indignation. It happened also very fre- 
quently, where the sense was rightly translated, the necessary trans- 
position of words which were drawn out of the phrase of one tongue 
into that of another, made the music appear very absurd in one 
tongue that was very natural in the other. I remember an Italian 
verse that ran thus word for word, 

"And turn'd my rage into pity;" 

which the English for rhjmie sake translated, 

"And into pity turn'd my rage." 

By this means the soft notes that were adapted to pity in the Italian, 
fell upon the word rage in the English; and the angry sounds that 
were turned to rage in the original, were made to express pity in 
the translation. It oftentimes happened likewise, that the finest 
notes in the air fell upon the most insignificant words in the sen- 
tence. I have known the word and pursued through the whole 
gamut, have been entertained with many a melodious the, and have 
heard the most beautiful graces, quavers and divisions bestowed 
upon then, for, and from; to the eternal honour of our English 
particles. 

The next step to our refinement, was the introducing of Italian 
actors into our opera; who sung their parts in their own language, 
at the same time that our countrymen performed theirs in our native 
tongue. The king or hero of the play generally spoke in Italian, 
and his slaves answered him in English: the lover frequently made 
his court, and gained the heart of his princess in a language which 
she did not understand. One would have thought it very difficult 
to have carried on dialogues after this manner, without an inter- 
i66 



THE SPECTATOR 

preter between the persons that conversed together; but this was 
the state of the EngUsh stage for about three years. 

At length the audience grew tired of understanding half the opera, 
and therefore to ease themselves entirely of the fatigue of thinking, 
have so ordered it at present that the whole opera is performed in 
an unknown tongue. We no longer understand the language of our 
own stage; insomuch that I have often been afraid, when I have 
seen our Italian performers chattering in the vehemence of action, 
that they have been calling us names, and abusing us among them- 
selves; but I hope, since we do put such an entire confidence in them, 
they will not talk against us before our faces, though they may do it 
with the same safety as if it were behind our backs. In the mean- 
time I cannot forbear thinking how naturally an historian, who 
writes two or three hundred years hence, and does not know the 
taste of his wise fore-fathers, will make the following reflection, 
In the beginning of the eighteenth century, the Italian tongue was 
so well understood in England, that operas were acted on the public 
stage in that language. 

One scarce knows how to be serious in the confutation of an 
absurdity that shews itself at the first sight. It does not want any 
great measure of sense to see the ridicule of this monstrous practice; 
but what makes it the more astonishing, it is not the taste of the 
rabble, but of persons of the greatest poHteness, which has estab- 
lished it. 

If the Italians have a genius for music above the English, the 
English have a genius for other performances of a much higher 
nature, and capable of giving the mind a much nobler entertain- 
ment. Would one think it was possible (at a time when an author 
lived that was able to write the Phcedra and Hippolitus) for a people 
to be so stupidly fond of the Italian opera, as scarce to give a third 
day's hearing to that admirable tragedy ? Music is certainly a very 
agreeable entertainment, but if it would take the entire possession 
of our ears, if it would make us incapable of hearing sense, if it 
would exclude arts that have a much greater tendency to the refine- 
ment of human nature: I must confess I would allow it no better 
quarter than Plato has done, who banishes it out of his common- 
wealth. 

At present, our notions of music are so very uncertain, that we do 
not know what it is we like, only, in general, we are transported 
with any thing that is not English: so if it be of a foreign growth, 
167 



THE SPECTATOR 

let it be Italian, French, or High-Dutch, it is the same thing. In 
short, our English music is quite rooted out, and nothing yet planted 
in its stead. 

When a royal palace is burnt to the ground, every man is at liberty 
to present his plan for a new one ; and though it be but indifferently 
put together, it may furnish several hints that may be of use to a 
good architect. I shall take the same liberty in a following paper, 
of giving my opinion upon the subject of music, which I shall lay 
down only in a problematical manner to be considered by those 
who are masters in the art. C. 



CHOICE OF A PROFESSION 
No. 21.] SATURDAY, March 24, 1710-11. [Addison.i] 

Locus est et pluribus umbris. 

HoR. I Ep. V. 28. 

There's room enough, and each may bring his friend. 

I AM sometimes very much troubled when I reflect upon the 
three great professions of divinity, law, and physic; how they 
are each of them overburdened with practitioners, and filled with 
multitudes of ingenious gentlemen that starve one another. 

We may divide the clergy into generals, field-ofl&cers, and sub- 
alterns. Among the first we may reckon bishops, deans, and 
archdeacons. Among the second are doctors of divinity, prebenda- 
ries, and all that wear scarfs. The rest are comprehended under 
the subalterns. As for the first class, our constitution preserves it 
from any redundancy of incumbents, notwithstanding competitors 
are numberless. Upon a strict calculation it is found that there 
has been a great exceeding of late years in the second division, 
several brevets having been granted for the converting of sub- 
alterns into scarf -officers ; insomuch that within my memory the 
price of lustring is raised above two-pence in a yard. As for the 
subalterns, they are not to be numbered. Should our clergy once 
enter into the corrupt practice of the laity, by the splitting of their 
freeholds, they would be able to carry most of the elections in 
England. 

168 



THE SPECTATOR 

The body of the law is no less encumbered with superfluous 
members, that are like Virgil's army, which he tells us was so 
crowded many of them had not room to use their weapons. This 
prodigious society of men may be divided into the litigious and 
peaceable. Under the first are comprehended all these who are 
carried down in coach-fulls to Westminster-hall every morning in 
term time. Martial's description of this species of lawyers is full 
of humour: 

"Iras et verba locant." 

"Men that hire out their words and anger;" that are more or less 
passionate according as they are paid for it, and allow their client a 
quantity of wrath proportionable to the fee which they receive from 
him. I must, however, observe to the reader, that above three 
parts of those whom I reckon among the litigious are such as are 
only quarrelsome in their hearts, and have no opportunity of shew- 
ing their passion at the bar. Nevertheless as they do not know 
what strifes may arise, they appear at the Hall every day, that they 
may shew themselves in a readiness to enter the Usts, whenever 
there shall be occasion for them. 

The peaceable lawyers are, in the first place, many of the 
benchers of the several inns of court, who seem to be the dignitaries 
of the law, and are endowed with those qualifications of mind that 
accomplish a man rather for a ruler than a pleader. These men 
live peaceably in their habitations, eating once a day, and dancing 
once a year, for the honour of their respective societies. 

Another numberless branch of peaceable lawyers are those yoimg 
men who, being placed at the inns of court in order to study the 
laws of their country, frequent the play-house more than West- 
minster-hall, and are seen in all public assemblies, except in a court 
of justice. I shall say nothing of those silent and busy multitudes 
that are employed within doors in the drawing up of writings and 
conveyances ; nor of those greater numbers that palliate their want 
of business with a pretence to such chamber practice. 

If, in the third place, we look into the profession of physic, we 
shall find a most formidable body of men. The sight of them is 
enough to make a man serious ; for we may lay it down as a maxim 
that when a nation abounds in physicians it grows thin of people. 
Sir William Temple is very much puzzled to find out a reason why 
the Northern Hive, as he calls it, does not send out such prodigious 
169 



THE SPECTATOR 

swarms, and overrun the world with Goths and Vandals, as it did 
formerly; but had that excellent author observed that there were 
no students in physic among the subjects of Thor and Woden, 
and that this science very much flourishes in the north at present, 
he might have found a better solution for this difl&culty than any of 
those he has made use of. This body of men in our own country 
may be described like the British army in Caesar's time: some of 
them slay in chariots, and some on foot. If the infantry do less 
execution than the charioteers, it is because they cannot be carried 
so soon into all quarters of the town, and despatch so much business 
in so short a time. Besides this body of regular troops, there are 
stragglers who, without being duly listed and enrolled, do infinite 
mischief to those who are so unlucky as to fall into their hands. 

There are, besides the above-mentioned, innumerable retainers 
to physic who, for want of other patients, amuse themselves with 
the stifling of cats in an air-pump, cutting up dogs alive, or impal- 
ing of insects upon the point of a needle for microscopical observa- 
tions; besides those that are employed in the gathering of weeds, 
and the chase of butterflies: not to mention the cockleshell-mer- 
chants and spider-catchers. 

When I consider how each of these professions is crowded with 
multitudes that seek their livelihood in them, and how many men 
of merit there are in each of them who may be rather said to be of 
the science than the profession, I very much wonder at the humour 
of parents who will not rather choose to place their sons in a way 
of life where an honest industry cannot but thrive, than in stations 
where the greatest probity, learning, and good sense may miscarry. 
How many men are country curates that might have made them- 
selves aldermen of London, by a right improvement of a smaller 
sum of money than what is usually laid out upon a learned educa- 
tion ? A sober frugal person, of slender parts and a slow apprehen- 
sion, might have thrived in trade though he starves upon physic; 
as a man would be well enough pleased to buy silks of one, whom 
he would not venture to feel his pulse. Vagellius is careful, studi- 
ous, and obliging, but withal a little thick-skulled; he has not a 
single client, but might have had abundance of customers. The 
misfortune is, that parents take a liking to a particular profession, 
and therefore desire their sons may be of it ; whereas, in so great an 
affair of life, they should consider the genius and abilities of their 
children more than their own inclinations. 
170 



THE SPECTATOR 

It is the great advantage of a trading nation, that there are very- 
few in it so dull and heavy who may not be placed in stations of 
life which may give them an opportunity of making their fortimes. 
A well-regulated commerce is not, like law, physic, or divinity, 
to be overstocked with hands; but, on the contrary, flourishes by 
multitudes, and gives employment to all its professors. Fleets 
of merchantmen are so many squadrons of floating shops, that 
vend our wares and manufactures in all the markets of the world, 
and find out chapmen vmder both the tropics. C. 



LETTER FROM A VALETUDINARIAN 

No. 25.] THURSDAY, March 29, 1711. [Addison.] 

yEgrescitque medendo. 

ViRG. ^N. xii. 46. 

And sickens by the very means of health. 

THE following letter will explain itself, and needs no 
apology: — 

" Sir, — I am one of that sickly tribe who are commonly known 
by the name of Valetudinarians; and do confess to you, that I first 
contracted this ill habit of body, or rather of mind, by the study 
of physic. I no sooner began to peruse books of this nature, but 
I found my pulse was irregular; and scarce ever read the account 
of any disease that I did not fancy myself afflicted with. Dr. 
Sydenham's learned treatise of fevers threw me into a lingering 
hectic, which hung upon me all the while I was reading that excel- 
lent piece. I then applied myself to the study of several authors, 
who have written upon phthisical distempers, and by that means 
fell into a consumption; tiU at length, growing very fat, I was in a 
manner shamed out of that imagination. Not long after this I 
found in myself all the symptoms of the gout, except pain; but was 
cured of it by a treatise upon the gravel, written by a very ingenious 
author, who (as it is usual for physicians to convert one distemper 
into another) eased me of the gout by giving me the stone. I at 
171 



THE SPECTATOR 

length studied myself into a complication of distempers; but acci- 
dentally taking into my hand that ingenious discourse written by 
Sanctorius, I was resolved to direct myself by a scheme of rules, 
which I had collected from his observations. The learned world 
are very well acquainted with that gentleman's invention ; who, for 
the better carrving on of his experiments, contrived a certain mathe- 
matical chair, which was so artificially hung upon springs, that it 
would weigh anything as well as a pair of scales. By this means 
he discovered how many ounces of his food passed by perspiration, 
what quantity of it was turned into nourishment, and how much 
went away by the other channels and distributions of nature. 

"Having pro\ided myself with this chair, I used to study, eat, 
drink, and sleep in it; insomuch that I may be said, for these three 
last years, to have Hved in a pair of scales. I compute myself, when 
I am in full health, to be precisely two himdredweight, falling short 
of it about a pound after a day's fast, and exceeding it as much after 
a very full meal ; so that it is my continual emplo\Tnent to trim the 
balance between these two volatile povmds in my constitution. In 
my ordinary meals I fetch myself up to two hundredweight and 
half a pound; and if, after ha\Tng dined, I find myself fall short of 
it, I drink just so much small beer, or eat such a quantity of bread, 
as is sufficient to make me weight. In my greatest excesses I do 
not transgress more than the other half-pound; which, for my 
health's sake, I do the first Monday in every month. As soon as I 
find myself duly poised after dinner, I walk till I have perspired 
five ounces and four scruples; and when I discover by my chair, 
that I am so far reduced, I fall to my books, and study away three 
ounces more. As for the remaining parts of the pound, I keep no 
account of them. I do not dine and sup by the clock, but by my 
chair; for when that informs me my pound of food is exhausted, 
I conclude myself to be hungry, and lay in another with all diU- 
gence. In my days of abstinence I lose a poimd and a half, and on 
solemn fasts am two pound lighter than on other days in the year. 

" I allow myself, one night with another, a quarter of a pound of 
sleep, within a few grains more or less; and if, upon my rising, I 
find that I have not consumed my whole quantity, I take out the 
rest in my chair. Upon an exact calculation of what I expended 
and received the last year, which I always register in a book, I find 
the medium to be two hundredweight, so that I cannot discover 
that I am impaired one ounce in my health during a whole twelve- 
172 



THE SPECTATOR 

month. And yet, Sir, notwithstanding this my great care to ballast 
myself equally every day, and to keep my body in its proper poise, 
so it is that I find myself in a sick and languishing condition. My 
complexion is grown very sallow, my pulse low, and my body hy- 
dropical. Let me, therefore, beg you. Sir, to consider me as your 
patient, and to give me more certain rules to walk by than those I 
have already observed, and you will very much oblige, 

Your humble Servant." 

This letter puts me in mind of an Italian epitaph, written on the 
monument of a valetudinarian : " Stavo ben, ma per star meglio, sto 
qui:" which it is impossible to translate. The fear of death often 
proves mortal, and sets people on methods to save their lives, which 
infallibly destroy them. This is a reflection m.ade by some histo- 
rians, upon observing that there are many more thousands killed in 
a flight than in a battle; and may be appUed to those multitudes 
of imaginary sick persons that break their constitutions by physic, 
and throw themselves into the arms of death, by endeavouring to 
escape it. This method is not only dangerous, but below the prac- 
tice of a reasonable creature. To consult the preservation of Hfe, 
as the only end of it; to make our health our business; to engage in 
no action that is not part of a regimen, or course of physic, are pur- 
poses so abject, so mean, so unworthy human nature, that a gener- 
ous soul would rather die than submit to them. Besides, that a 
continual anxiety for life vitiates all the relishes of it, and casts a 
gloom over the whole face of nature; as it is impossible we should 
take delight in anything that we are every moment afraid of losing. 

I do not mean, by what I have here said, that I think any one to 
blame for taking due care of their health. On the contrary, as 
cheerfulness of mind and capacity for business are in a great meas- 
ure the effects of a well-tempered constitution, a man cannot be at 
too much pains to cultivate and preserve it. But this care, which 
we are prompted to, not only by common sense, but by duty and 
instinct, should never engage us in groundless fears, melancholy 
apprehensions, and imaginary distempers, which are natural to 
every man who is more anxious to live than how to live. In short, 
the preservation of life should be only a secondary concern, and the 
direction of it our principal. If we have this frame of mind, we 
shall take the best means to preserve life, without being over soUcit- 
ous about the event; and shall arrive at that point of felicity which 

173 



THE SPECTATOR 

Martial has mentioned as the perfection of happiness, of neither 
fearing nor wishing for death. 

In answer to the gentleman, who tempers his health by ounces 
and by scruples, and instead of complying with those natural soHci- 
tations of hunger and thirst, drowsiness, or love of exercise, governs 
himself by the prescriptions of his chair, I shall tell him a short 
fable. Jupiter, says the mythologist, to reward the piety of a cer- 
tain countryman, promised to give him whatever he would ask. 
The countryman desired that he might have the management of 
the weather in his own estate. He obtained his request; and im- 
mediately distributed rain, snow, and sunshine among his several 
fields, as he thought the nature of the soil required. At the end of 
the year, when he expected to see a more than ordinary crop, his 
harvest fell infinitely short of that of his neighbours. Upon which 
(says the fable) he desired Jupiter to take the weather again into 
his own hands, or that otherwise he should utterly ruin himself. 

C. 



REFLECTIONS IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY 
No. 26.] FRIDAY, March 30, 171 1. [Addison.] 

Pallida mors aequo pulsat pede pauperum tabernas 

Regumque turres, O beate Sexti. 
Vitae summa brevis spem nos vetat inchoare longam, 

Jam te premct nox, fabulaeque manes, 
Et domus exilis Plutonia. Hoe. i Od. iv. 13. 

With equal foot, rich friend, impartial fate 
Knocks at the cottage, and the palace gate: 
Life's span forbids thee to extend thy cares, 
And stretch thy hopes beyond thy years: 
Night soon will seize, and you must quickly go 
To story'd ghosts, and Pluto's house below. 

WHEN I am in a serious humour, I very often walk by myself 
in Westminster Abbey; where the gloominess of the place, 
and the use to which it is applied, with the solemnity of the building, 
and the condition of the people who lie in it, are apt to fill the mind 
with a kind of melancholy, or rather thoughtfulness, that is not dis- 
agreeable. I yesterday passed a whole afternoon in the churchyard, 
174 



THE SPECTATOR 

the cloisters, and the church, amusing myself with the tomb-stones 
and inscriptions that I met with in those several regions of the dead. 
Most of them recorded nothing else of the buried person, but that 
he was born upon one day, and died upon another: the whole history 
of his Hfe being comprehended in those two ci'cumstances that are 
common to all mankind. I could not but look upon these registers 
of existence, whether of brass or marble, as a kind of satire upon 
the departed persons; who left no other memorial of them, but 
that they were born, and that they died. They put me in mind of 
several persons mentioned in the battles of heroic poems, who have 
sounding names given them, for no other reason but that they may 
be killed, and are celebrated for nothing but being knocked on the 
head. 

" Glaucumque, Medontaque, Thersilochumque.-" 

"Glaucus, and Medon, and Thersilochus." — ViRG. 

The life of these men is finely described in holy writ by " the path 
of an arrow," which is immediately closed up and lost. 

Upon my going into the church, I entertained myself with the 
digging of a grave ; and saw in every shovel-full of it that was thrown 
up, the fragment of a bone or skull intermixt with a kind of fresh 
mouldering earth, that some time or other had a place in the compo- 
sition of an human body. Upon this I began to consider with 
myself, what innumerable multitudes of people lay confused together 
under the pavement of that ancient cathedral ; how men and women, 
friends and enemies, priests and soldiers, monks and prebendaries, 
were crumbled amongst one another, and blended together in the 
same common mass; how beauty, strength, and youth, with old age, 
weakness, and deformity, lay undistinguished in the same promis- 
cuous heap of matter. 

After having thus surveyed this great magazine of mortality, as 
it were irwthe lump, I examined it more particularly by the accounts 
v.'hich I found on several of the monuments which are raised in 
every quarter of that ancient fabric. Some of them were covered 
with such extravagant epitaphs, that if it were possible for the dead 
person to be acquainted with them, he would blush at the praises 
which his friends have bestowed on him. There are others so 
excessively modest, that they deliver the character of the person 
departed in Greek or Hebrew, and by that means are not understood 
once in a twelvemonth. In the poetical quarter, I found there were 

175 



THE SPECTATOR 

poets who had no monuments, and monuments which had no 
poets. I observed, indeed, that the present war had filled the 
church with many of these uninhabited monuments, which had been 
erected to the memory of persons whose bodies were, perhaps, 
buried in the plains of Blenheim, or in the bosom of the ocean. 

I could not but be very much delighted with several modem 
epitaphs, which are written with great elegance of expression and 
justness of thought, and therefore do honour to the living as well as 
to the dead. As a foreigner is very apt to conceive an idea of the 
ignorance or poHteness of a nation from the turn of their public 
monuments and inscriptions, they should be submitted to the perusal 
of men of learning and genius before they are put in execution. 
Sir Cloudesley Shovel's monument has very often given me great 
offence. Instead of the brave, rough, English admiral, which was 
the distinguishing character of that plain, gallant man, he is repre- 
sented on his tomb by the figure of a beau, dressed in a long periwig, 
and reposing himself upon velvet cushions under a canopy of state. 
The inscription is answerable to the monument; for, instead of 
celebrating the many remarkable actions he had performed in the 
service of his country, it acquaints us only with the manner of his 
death, in which it was impossible for him to reap any honour. The 
Dutch, whom we are apt to despise for want of genius, show an 
infinitely greater taste of antiquity and politeness in their buildings 
and works of this nature, than what we meet with in those of our 
own country. The monuments of their admirals, which have been 
erected at the public expense, represent them like themselves, and 
are adorned with rostral crowns and naval ornaments, with beautiful 
festoons of sea-weed, shells, and coral. 

But to return to our subject. I have left the repository of our 
English kings for the contemplation of another day, when I shall 
find my mind disposed for so serious an amusement. I know that 
entertainments of this nature are apt to raise dark and dismal 
thoughts in timorous minds and gloomy imaginations; but for my 
own part, though I am always serious, I do not know what it is to 
be melancholy; and can therefore take a view of nature in her deep 
and solemn scenes, with the same pleasure as in her most gay and 
delightful ones. By this means I can improve myself with those 
objects, which others consider with terror. When I look upon the 
tombs of the great, every emotion of envy dies in me; when I read 
the epitaphs of the beautiful, every inordinate desire goes out; 
176 



THE SPECTATOR 

when I meet with the grief of parents upon a tomb-stone, my heart 
mehs with compassion: when I see the tomb of the parents them- 
selves, I consider the vanity of grieving for those whom we must 
quickly follow. When I see kings lying by those who deposed 
them, when I consider rival wits placed side by side, or the holy 
men that divided the world with their contests and disputes, I 
reflect with sorrow and astonishment on the little competitions, 
factions, and debates of mankind. When I read the several dates 
of the tombs, of some that died yesterday, and some six hundred 
years ago, I consider that great day when we shall all of us be con- 
temporaries, and make our appearance together. C. 



OFFICE FOR THE REGULATION OF SIGNS 

No. 28.] MONDAY, April 2, 171 1. [Addison.] 

— Neque semper arcum 
Tendit Apollo.— HoR. 

I SHALL here present my reader with a letter from a projector, 
concerning a new office which he thinks may very much con- 
tribute to the embellishment of the city, and to the driving barbarity 
out of our streets. I consider it as a satire upon projectors in gen- 
eral, and a hvely picture of the whole art of modern criticism. 

" Sir, — Observing that you have thoughts of creating certain 
officers under you, for the inspection of several petty enormities 
which you yourself cannot attend to; and finding daily absurdities 
hung upon the sign-posts of this city, to the great scandal of foreign- 
ers, as well as those of our owa country, who are curious spectators 
of the same: I do humbly propose, that you would be pleased to 
make me your Superintendent of all such figures and devices as are 
or shall be made use of on this occasion ; with full powers to rectify 
or expunge whatever I shall find irregular or defective. For want 
of such an officer, there is nothing like sound Uterature and good 
sense to be met with in those objects, that are ever}Tvhere thrusting 
themselves out to the eye, and endeavouring to become visible. Our 
streets are filled with blue boars, back swans, and red lions; not to 



THE SPECTATOR 

mention flying pigs, and hogs in armour, with many other creatures 
more extraordinary than any in the deserts of Afric. Strange! 
that one who has all the birds and beasts in nature to choose out of, 
should live at the sign of an Ens RationisI 

" My first task therefore should be, like that of Hercules, to clear 
the city from monsters. In the second place I would forbid, that 
creatures of jarring and incongruous natures should be joined to- 
gether in the same sign ; such as the bell and the neat's-tongue, the 
dog and grid-iron. The fox and goose may be supposed to have 
met; but what has the fox and the seven stars to do together? 
And when did the lamb and dolphin ever meet, except upon a sign- 
post? As for the cat and fiddle, there is a conceit in it; and there- 
fore I do not intend that anything I have here said should affect it. 
I must however observe to you upon this subject, that it is usual for 
a young tradesman, at his first setting up, to add to his sign that of 
the master whom he served; as the husband, after marriage, gives 
a place to his mistress's arms in his own coat. This I take to have 
given rise to many of those absurdities which are committed over 
our heads; and, as I am informed, first occasioned the three nuns 
and a hare, which we see so frequently joined together. I would 
therefore establish certain rules, for the determining how far one 
tradesman may give the sign of another, and in what cases he may be 
allowed to quarter it with his own. 

" In the third place, I would enjoin every shop to make use of a 
sign which bears some affinity to the wares in which it deals. What 
can be more inconsistent than to see a bawd at the sign of the angel, 
or a tailor at the Hon ? A cook should not Uve at the boot, nor a 
shoemaker at the roasted pig; and yet, for want of this regulation, 
I have seen a goat set up before the door of a perfumer, and the 
French king's head at a sword-cutler's. 

"An ingenious foreigner observes, that several of those gentle- 
men who value themselves upon their families, and overlook such 
as are bred to trade, bear the tools of their forefathers in their coats 
of arms. I will not examine how true this is in fact: but though it 
may not be necessary for posterity thus to set up the sign of their 
forefathers, I think it highly proper for those who actually profess 
the trade, to show some such marks of it before their doors. 

" When the name gives an occasion for an ingenious sign-post, I 
would likewise advise the owner to take that opportunity of letting 
the world know who he is. It would have been ridiculous for the 
178 



THE SPECTATOR 

ingenious Mrs. Salmon to have lived at the sign of the trout; for 
which reason she has erected before her house the figure of the fish 
that is her namesake. Mr. Bell has Ukewise distinguished himself 
by a device of the same nature: and here, sir, I must beg leave to 
observe to you, that this particular figure of a bell has given occasion 
to several pieces of wit in this kind. A man of your reading must 
know that Able Drugger gained great applause by it in the time of 
Ben Johnson. Our apocryphal heathen god is also represented 
by this figure; which, in conjunction with the dragon, makes a very 
handsome picture in several of our streets. As for the Bell Savage, 
which is the sign of a savage man standing by a bell, I was formerly 
very much puzzled upon the conceit of it, till I accidentally fell into 
the reading of an old romance translated out of the French; which 
gives an account of a very beautiful woman who was found in a 
wilderness, and is called in the French La Belle Sauvage; and is 
everywhere translated by our countrymen the Bell Savage. This 
piece of philology will, I hope, convince you that I have made sign- 
posts my study, and consequently qualified myself for the employ- 
ment which I solicit at your hands. But before I conclude my 
letter, I must communicate to you another remark which I have 
made upon the subject with which I am now entertaining you, 
namely, that I can give a shrewd guess at the humour of the inhabi- 
tant by the sign that hangs before his door. A surly, choleric fellow 
generally makes choice of a bear; as men of milder dispositions 
frequently live at the lamb. Seeing a punch-bowl painted upon a 
sign near Charing-Cross, and very curiously garnished, with a couple 
of angels hovering over it, and squeezing a lemon into it, I had the 
curiosity to ask after the master of the house, and found upon in- 
quiry, as I had guessed by the little agremens upon his sign, that 
he was a Frenchman. I know, sir, it is not requisite for me to en- 
large upon these hints to a gentleman of your great abilities; so, 
humbly recommending myself to your favour and patronage, 

"I remain," &c 

I shall add to the foregoing letter another, which came to me by 
the same penny-post. 

" Honoured Sir, — Having heard that this nation is a great 
encourager of ingenuity, I have brought with me a rope-dancer 
that was caught in one of the woods belonging to the Great Mogul. 
179 



THE SPECTATOR 

He is by birth a monkey; but swings upon a rope, takes a pipe of 
tobacco, and drinks a glass of ale, like any reasonable creature. 
He gives great satisfaction to the quality; and if they will make a 
subscription for him, I will send for a brother of his out of Holland 
that is a very good tumbler; and also for another of the same family, 
whom I design for my merry-andrew, as being an excellent mimic, 
and the greatest droll in the country where he now is. I hope to 
have this entertainment in a readiness for the next winter; and 
doubt not but it will please more than the opera or puppet-show. 
I will not say that a monkey is a better man than some of the opera 
heroes; but certainly he is a better representative of a man than the 
most artificial composition of wood and wire. If you will be pleased 
to give me a good word in your paper, you shall be every night a 
spectator at my show for nothing. 

"lam." &c. 



THE CLUB OF SPECTATORS 

No. 34.] MONDAY, April 9, 171 1. [Addison.] 

parcit 

Cognatis maculis similis fera — Jtrv. 

THE club of which I am a member is very luckily composed 
of such persons as are engaged in different ways of life, and 
deputed as it were out of the most conspicuous classes of mankind : 
by this means I am furnished with the greatest variety of hints and 
materials, and know everything that passes in the different quarters 
and divisions, not only of this great city, but of the whole kingdom. 
My readers, too, have the satisfaction to find, that there is no rank 
or degree among them who have not their representative in this 
club, and that there is always somebody present who will take care 
of their respective interests, that nothing may be written or pub- 
hshed to the prejudice or infringement of their just rights and 
privileges. 

I last night sate very late in company with this select body of 
friends, who entertained me with several remarks which they and 
others had made upon these my speculations, as also with the vari- 
180 



THE SPECTATOR 

ous success which they had met with among their several ranks 
and degrees of readers. Will. Honeycomb told me, in the softest 
manner he could, that there were some ladies (but for your comfort, 
says Will., they are not those of the most wit) that were offended 
at the liberties I had taken with the opera and the puppet-show; 
that some of them were Ukewise very much surprised, that I should 
think such serious points as the dress and equipage of persons of 
quality proper subjects for raillery. 

He was going on, when Sir Andrew Freeport took him up short, 
and told him, that the papers he hinted at had done great good in 
the city, and that all their wives and daughters were the better for 
them: and further added, that the whole city thought themselves 
very much obhged to me for declaring my generous intentions to 
scourge vice and folly as they appear in a multitude, without con- 
descending to be a pubUsher of particular intrigues and cuckoldoms. 
In short, says Sir Andrew, if you avoid that fooUsh beaten road of 
falling, upon aldermen and citizens, and employ your pen upon the 
vanity and luxury of courts, your paper must needs be of general 
use. 

Upon this my friend the Templar told Sir Andrew, That he won- 
dered to hear a man of his sense talk after that manner; that the 
city had always been the province for satire; and that the vdts of. 
King Charles's time jested upon nothing else during his whole 
reign. He then showed, by the examples of Horace, Juvenal, 
Boileau, and the best writers of every age, that the folUes of the 
stage and court had never been accounted too sacred for ridicule, 
how great soever the persons might be that patronized them. But 
after all, says he, I think your raillery has made too great an excur- 
sion in attacking several persons of the inns of court; and I do not 
beheve you can show me any precedent for your behaviour in that 
particular. 

My good friend Sir Roger de Coverley, who had said nothing 
all this while, began his speech with a pish! and told us, that he 
wondered to see so many men of sense so very serious upon fooleries. 
Let our good friend, said he, attack every one that deserves it: I 
would only advise you, Mr. Spectator, applying himself to me, to 
take care how you meddle with country squires: they are the orna- 
ments of the English nation; men of good heads and sound 
bodies! and, let me tell you, some of them take it ill of you, that 
} ou mention fox-hunters with so little respect. 
i8i 



THE SPECTATOR 

Captain Sentry spoke very sparingly on this occasion. What 
he said was only to command my prudence in not touching upon 
the army, and advised me to continue to act discreetly in that point. 

By this time I found every subject of my speculations was taken 
away from me, by one or other of the club; and began to think 
myself in the condition of the good man that had one wife who 
took a dislike to his grey hairs, and another to his black, till by their 
picking out what each of them had an aversion to, they left his head 
altogether bald and naked. 

While I was thus musing with myself, my worthy friend the 
clergyman, who, very luckily for me, was at the club that night, 
undertook my cause. He told us, that he wondered any order 
of persons should think themselves too considerable to be advised : 
that it was not quality, but innocence, which exempted men from 
reproof: that vice and folly ought to be attacked wherever they 
could be met with, and especially when they were placed in high 
and conspicuous stations of life. He further added, that my paper 
would only serve to aggravate the pains of poverty, if it chiefly 
exposed those who are already depressed, and in some measure 
turned into ridicule, by the meanness of their conditions and cir- 
cumstances. He afterwards proceeded to take notice of the great 
use this paper might be of to the public, by reprehending those 
vices which are too trivial for the chastisement of the law, and too 
fantastical for the cognizance of the pulpit. He then advised rae 
to prosecute my undertaking with cheerfulness, and assured me, 
that whoever might be displeased with me, I should be approved 
by all those whose praises do honour to the persons on whom they 
are bestowed. 

The whole club pays a particular deference to the discourse of 
this gentleman, and are drawn into what he says, as much by the 
candid, ingenious manner with which he delivers himself, as by the 
strength of argument and force of reason which he makes use of. 
Will. Honeycomb immediately agreed, that what he had said was 
right; and that for his part, he would not insist upon the quarter 
which he had demanded for the ladies. Sir Andrew gave up the 
city with the same frankness. The Templar would not stand 
out: and was followed by Sir Roger and the Captain: who all 
agreed that I should be at liberty to carry the war into what quarter 
I pleased ; provided I continued to combat with criminals in a body, 
and to assault the vice without hurting the person. 
182 



THE SPECTATOR 

This debate, which was held for the good of mankind, put me in 
mind of that which the Roman triumvirate were formerly engaged 
in, for their destruction. Every man at first stood hard for his 
friend, till they found that by this means they should spoil their 
proscription: and at length, making a sacrifice of all their acquain- 
tance and relations, furnished out a very decent execution. 

Having thus taken my resolutions to march on boldly in the cause 
of virtue and good sense, and tc annoy their adversaries in whatever 
degree or rank of men they may be found, I shall be deaf for the 
future to all the remonstrances that shall be made to me on this 
accoimt. If Punch grows extravagant, I shall reprimand him very 
freely: if the stage becomes a nursery of folly and impertinence, I 
shall not be afraid to animadvert upon it. In short, if I meet with 
anything in city, court, or country, that shocks modesty or good 
manners, I shall use my utmost endeavours to make an example of 
it. I must, however, entreat every particular person, who dees me 
the honour to be a reader of this paper, never to think himself, or 
any one of his friends or enemies, aimed at in what is said : for I 
promise him, never to draw a faulty character which does not fit 
at least a thousand people; or to publish a single paper that is not 
written in the spirit of benevolence, and with a love to mankind. 



FALSE WIT AND HUMOUR 

No. 35.] TUESDAY, April 10, 171 1. [Addison.!] 

Risu inepto res ineptior nulla est. — Mart. 

AMONG all kinds of writing, there is none in which authors are 
more apt to miscarry than in works of humour, as there is 
none in which they are more ambitious to excel. It is not an imag- 
ination that teems with monsters, an head that is filled with extrava- 
gant conceptions, which is capable of furnishing the world with 
diversions of this nature; and yet, if we look into the productions of 
several writers, who set up for men of humour, what wild irregular 
fancies, what unnatural distortions of thought, do we meet with? 
If they speak nonsense, they believe they are talking humour; and 
when they have drawn together a scheme of absurd, inconsistent 

183 



THE SPECTATOR 

ideas, they are not able to read it over to themselves without 
laughing. These poor gentlemen endeavour to gain themselves 
the reputation of wits and humourists, by such monstrous conceits 
as almost qualify them for Bedlam; not considering that humour 
should always lie under the check of reason, and that it requires 
the direction of the nicest judgment, by so much the more as it 
indulges itself in the most boundless freedoms. There is a kind of 
nature that is to be observed in this sort of compositions, as well as 
in all other; and a certain regularity of thought which must dis- 
cover the writer to be a man of sense, at the same time that he 
appears altogether given up to caprice. For my part, when I read 
the delirious mirth of an unskilful author, I cannot be so barbarous 
as to divert myself with it, but am rather apt to pity the man, than 
to laugh at anything he writes. 

The deceased Mr. Shadwell, who had himself a great deal of the 
talent which I am treating of, represents an empty rake, in one of 
his plays, as very much surprised to hear one say that breaking of 
windows was not humour; and I question not but several English 
readers will be as much startled to hear me afl&rm, that many of 
those raving incoherent pieces, which are often spread among us, 
under odd chimerical titles, are rather the offsprings of a distempered 
brain, than works of humour. 

It is indeed much easier to describe what is not humour, than what 
is; and very difficult to define it otherwise than as Cowley has done 
wit, by negatives. Were I to give my own notions of it, I would 
deliver them after Plato's manner, in a kind of allegory, and by 
supposing Hvunour to be a person, deduce to him all his qualifica- 
tions, according to the following genealogy. Truth was the foimder 
of the family, and the father of Good Sense. Good Sense was the 
father of Wit, who married a lady of a collateral line, called Mirth, 
by whom he had issue Humour. Humour therefore being the 
youngest of this illustrious family, and descended from parents of 
such different dispositions, is very various and unequal in his temper; 
sometimes you see him putting on grave looks and a solemn- habit, 
sometimes airy in his behaviour, and fantastic in his dress : insomuch 
that at different times he appears as serious as a judge, and as 
jocular as a merry-andrew. But as he has a great deal of the mother 
in his constitution, whatever mood he is in, he never fails to make 
his company laugh. 

But since there is an imposter abroad, who takes upon him the 
184 



THE SPECTATOR 

name of this young gentleman, and would willingly pass for him in 
the world ; to the end that well-meaning persons may not be imposed 
upon by cheats, I would desire my readers, when they meet with this 
pretender, to look into his parentage, and to examine him strictly, 
whether or no he be remotely allied to Truth, and lineally descended 
from Good Sense; if not, they may conclude him a counterfeit. 
They may likewise distinguish him by a loud and excessive laughter, 
in which he seldom gets his company to join with him. For as 
True Humour generally looks serious, while everybody laughs 
about him, False Humour is always laughing, whilst everybody 
about him looks serious. I shall only add, if he has not in him a 
mixture of both parents, that is, if he would pass for the oflfspring 
of Wit without Mirth, or Mirth without Wit, you may conclude 
him to be altogether spurious and a cheat. 

The imposter of whom I am speaking, descends originally from 
Falsehood, who was the mother of Nonsense, who was brought to 
bed of a son called Frenzy, who married one of the daughters of 
Folly, commonly known by the name of Laughter, on whom he 
begot that monstrous infant of which I have been here speaking. 
I shall set down at length the genealogical table of False Humour, 
and, at the same time, place under it the genealogy of True Humour, 
that the reader may at one view behold their different pedigrees and 
relations. 

Falsehood. 
Nonsense. 

Frenzy. Laughter. 

False Humour. 

Truth. 
Good Sense. 

Wit. Mirth. 

Humour. 

I might extend the allegory, by mentioning several of the children 
of False Humour, who are more in number than the sands of the 
sea, and might in particular enumerate the many sons and daughters 
which he has begot in this island. But as this would be a very 
invidious task, I shall only observe in general, that False Humour 
differs from the True as a monkey does from a man. 

First of all. He is exceedingly given to little apish tricks and 
buffooneries. 

185 



THE SPECTATOR 

Secondly, He so much delights in mimicry, that it is all one to 
him whether he exposes by it vice and folly, luxury and avarice; 
or, on the contrary, virtue and wisdom, pain and poverty. 

Thirdly, He is wonderfully unlucky, insomuch that he will bite 
the hand that feeds him, and endeavour to ridicule both friends and 
foes indifferently. For having but small talents, he must be merry 
where he can, not where he should. 

Fourthly, Being entirely void of reason, he pursues no point 
either of morality or instruction, but is ludicrous only for the sake 
of being so. 

Fifthly, Being incapable of anything but mock-representations, 
his ridicule is always personal, and aimed at the vicious man, or 
the writer; not at the vice, cr at the writing. 

I have here only pointed at the whole species of false humourists ; 
but as one of my principle designs in this paper is to beat down that 
malignant spirit which discovers itself in the writings of the present 
age, I shall not scruple, for the future, to single out any of the small 
wits that infest the world with such compositions as are ill-natured, 
immoral, and absurd. This is the only exception which I shall 
make to the general rule I have prescribed myself, of attacking 
multitudes; since every honest man ought to look upon himself as 
in a natural state of war with the libeller and lampooner, and to 
annoy them wherever they fall in his way. This is but retaliating 
upon them, and treating them as they treat others. 



A LADY'S LIBRARY 

No. 37.] THURSDAY, April 12, 1711. [Addison.] 

— Non ilia colo calathisve Minervae 
Foemineas assueta manus. — ViRG. 

SOME months ago, my friend Sir Roger, being in the country, 
enclosed a letter to me, directed to a certain lady whom I shall 
here call by the name of Leonora, and as it contained matters of 
consequence, desired me to deUver it to her with my own hand. 
Accordingly I waited upon her ladyship pretty early in the morning, 
and was desired by her women to walk into her lady's hbrary, till 
186 



THE SPECTATOR 

such time as she was in readiness to receive me. The very sound 
of a lady's library gave me a great curiosity to see in it; and as it 
v^ras some time before the lady came to me, I had an opportunity 
of turning over a great many of her books, which were ranged 
together in a very beautiful order. At the end of the foHos (which 
were finely bound and gilt) were great jars of China placed one 
above another in a very noble piece of architecture. The quartos 
were separated from the octavos by a pile of smaller vessels, which 
rose in a deUghtful pyramid. The octavos were bounded by tea- 
dishes of all shapes, colours, and sizes, which were so disposed on 
a wooden frame, that they looked Hke one continued pillar indented 
with the finest strokes of sculpture, and stained with the greatest 
variety of dyes. That part of the Hbrary which was designed for 
the reception of plays and pamphlets, and other loose papers, was 
enclosed in a kind of square, consisting of one of the prettiest 
grotesque works that ever I saw, and made up of scaramouches, 
lions, monkeys, mandarines, trees, shells, and a thousand other odd 
figures in China ware. In the midst of the room was a little Japan 
table, with a quire of gilt paper upon it, and on the paper a silver 
snuff-box made in the shape of a little book. I found there were 
several counterfeit books upon the upper shelves, which were 
carved in wood, and served only to fill up the numbers, hke fagots 
in the muster of a regiment. I was wonderfully pleased with such 
a mixt kind of furniture, as seemed very suitable to both the lady 
and the scholar, and did not know at first whether I should fancy 
myself in a grotto, or in a hbrary. 

Upon my looking into the books, I found there were some few 
which the lady had bought for her ovm use, but most of them had 
been got together, either because she had heard them praised, or 
because she had seen the authors of them. Among several that I 
examined I very well remember these that follow: 

Ogilby's Virgil. 
Dryden's Juvenal. 
Cassandra. 
Cleopatra. 
Astra;a. 

Sir Isaac Newton's Works. 

The Grand C>tus; with a pin stuck in one of the middle 
leaves. 

187 



THE SPECTATOR 

Pembroke's Arcadia. 

Locke of Human Understanding; with a paper of patches 

in it. 
A spelling-book. 

A Dictionary for the explanation of hard words. 
Sherlock upon Death. 
The Fifteen Comforts of Matrimony. 
Sir WilUam Temple's Essays. 
Father Malbranche's Search after Truth, translated into 

Enghsh. 
A Book of Novels. 
The Academy of Compliments. 
Culpepper's Midwifery. 
The Ladies' Calling. 
Tales in Verse by Mr. Durfey: bound in red leather, gilt on the 

back, and doubled down in several places. 
All the Classic Authors, in wood. 
A set of Elzivir's, by the same hand. 
CleUa: which opened of itself in the place that describes two 

lovers in a bower. 
Baker's Chronicle. 
Advice to a Daughter. 
The new Atalantis, with a Key to it. 
Mr. Steele's Christian Hero. 
A Prayer-book; with a bottle of Hungary water by the side 

of it. 
Dr. Sacheverell's Speech. 
Fielding's Trial. 
Seneca's Morals. 
Taylor's holy Living and Dying. 
La Ferte's Instructions for Country Dances. 

I was taking a catalogue in my pocket-book of these, and several 
other authors, when Leonora entered, and, upon my presenting her 
with a letter from the Knight, told me, with an unspeakable grace, 
that she hoped Sir Roger was in good health. I answered yes; for 
I hate long speeches, and after a bow or two retired. 

Leonora was formerly a celebrated beauty, and is still a very 
lovely woman. She has been a widow for two or three years, and 
being unfortunate in her first marriage, has taken a resolution 
1 88 



THE SPECTATOR 

never to venture upon a second. She has no children to take care 
of, and leaves the management of her estate to my good friend Sir 
Roger. But as the mind naturally sinks into a kind of lethargy 
and falls asleep, that is not agitated by some favourite pleasures 
and pursuits, Leonora has turned all the passions of her sex into a 
love of books and retirement. She converses chiefly with men, 
as she has often said herself,) but it is only in their writings; and 
admits of very few male-visitants, except my friend Sir Roger, 
whom she hears with great pleasure, and without scandal. As 
her reading has lain very much among romances, it has given her a 
very particular turn of thinking, and discovers itself even in her 
house, her gardens, and her furniture. Sir Roger has entertained me 
an hour together with a description of her country seat, which is 
situated in a kind of wilderness, about an hundred miles distant 
from London, and looks like a little enchanted palace. The rocks 
about her are shaped into artificial grottoes, covered with woodbines 
and jessamines. The woods are cut into shady walks, twisted 
into bowers, and filled with cages of turtles. The springs are made 
to run among pebbles, and by that means taught to murmur very 
agreeably. They are likewise collected into a beautiful lake, that 
is inhabited by a couple of swans, and empties itself by a little 
rivulet which runs through a green meadow, and is known in the 
family by the name of The Purling Stream. The Knight likewise 
tells me, that this lady preserves her game better than any of the 
gentlemen in the country. " Not (says Sir Roger) that she sets so 
great a value upon her partridges and pheasants, as upon her larks 
and nightingales. For she says that every bird which is killed in 
her ground, will spoil a concert, and that she shall certainly miss 
him the next year." 

When I think how oddly this lady is improved by learning, I 
look upon her with a mixture of admiration and pity. Amidst 
these innocent entertainments which she has formed to herself, 
how much more valuable does she appear than those of her sex 
who employ themselves in diversions that are less reasonable, 
though more in fashion! What improvements would a woman 
have made, who is so susceptible of impressions from what she 
reads, had she been guided to such books as have a tendency to 
enlighten the understanding and rectify the passions, as well as 
to those which are of little more use than to divert the imagination ! 

But the manner of a lady's employing herself usefully in reading 
189 



THE SPECTATOR 

shall be the subject of another paper, in which I design to recom- 
mend such particular books as may be proper for the improvement 
of the sex. And as this is a subject of a very nice natiu-e, I shall 
desire my correspondents to give me their thoughts upon it. 



FRENCH FASHIONS 

No. 45.] SATURDAY, April 21, 1711. [Addison.] 
Natio Comoeda est — Juv. 

THERE is nothing which I more desire than a safe and honour- 
able peace, though at the same time I am very apprehensive 
of many iU consequences that may attend it. I do not mean in 
regard to our politics, but to our manners. What an inimdation of 
ribbons and brocades will break in upon us ! what peals of laughter 
and impertinence shall we be exposed to! For the prevention of 
these great evils, I could heartily wish that there was an act of parHa- 
ment for prohibiting the importation of French fopperies. 

The female inhabitants of our island have already received very 
strong impressions from this ludicrous nation, though by the length 
of the war (as there is no evil which has not some good attending it) 
they are pretty weU worn out and forgotten. I remember the time 
when some of our well-bred country-women kept their valet de 
chamhre, because, forsooth, a man was much more handy about 
them than one of their own sex. I myself have seen one of these 
male Abigails tripping about the room with a looking-glass in his 
hand, and combing his lady's hair a whole morning together. 
Whether or no there was any truth in the story of a lady's being got 
with child by one of these her handmaids, I cannot tell; but I think 
at present the whole race of them is extinct in our own country. 

About the time that several of our sex were taken into this kind of 
service, the ladies likewise brought up the fashion of receiving visits 
in their beds. It was then looked upon as a piece of ill-breeding 
for a woman to refuse to see a man because she was not stirring; 
and a porter would have been thought unfit for his place, that could 
have made so awkward an excuse. As I love to see everything that 
190 



THE SPECTATOR 

is new, I once prevailed upon my friend Will. Honeycomb to carry 
me along with him to one of these travelled ladies, desiring him, at 
the same time, to present me as a foreigner who could not speak 
English, that so I might not be obliged to bear a part in the discourse. 
The lady, though willing to appear imdrest, had put on her best 
looks, and painted herself for our reception. Her hair appeared in 
a very nice disorder, as the night-gown which was thrown upon her 
shoulders was ruffled with great care. For my part, I am so 
shocked with everything which looks immodest in the fair sex, that 
I could not forbear taking ofif my eye from her when she moved in 
her bed, and was in the greatest confusion imaginable every time 
she stirred a leg or an arm. As the coquets, who introduced this 
custom, grew old, they left it ofif by degrees; well knowing that a 
woman of threescore may kick and tumble her heart out, without 
making any impressions. 

Sempronia is at present the most profest admirer of the French 
nation, but is so modest as to admit her visitants no further than 
her toilet. It is a very odd sight that beautiful creattire makes, 
when she is talking politics with her tresses flowing about her shoul- 
ders, and examining that face in the glass, which does such execu- 
tion upon aU the male standers-by. How prettily does she divide 
her discourse between her woman and her visitants! What 
sprightly transitions does she make from an opera or a sermon, to an 
ivory comb or a pincushion ! How have I been pleased to see her 
interrupted in an account of her travels by a message to her foot- 
man ! and holding her tongue in the midst of a moral reflection by 
applying the tip of it to a patch! 

There is nothing which exposes a woman to greater dangers, 
than that gaiety and airiness of temper, which are natural to most of 
the sex. It should be therefore the concern of every wise and vir- 
tuous woman, to keep this sprightliness from degenerating into 
levity. On the contrary, the whole discourse and behaviour of the 
French is to make the sex more fantastical, or (as they are pleased 
to term it) more awakened, than is consistent either with virtue or 
discretion. To speak loud in public assemblies, to let every one hear 
you talk of things that should only be mentioned in private, or in 
whisper, are looked upon as parts of a refined education. At the 
same time, a blush is unfashionable, and silence more iU-bred than 
anything that can be spoken. In short, discretion and modesty, 
which in all other ages and countries have been regarded as the 

IQI 



THE SPECTATOR 

greatest ornaments of the fair sex, are considered as the ingredients 
of narrow conversation and family behaviour. 

Some years ago I wsls at the tragedy of Macbeth, and imfortu- 
nately placed myself under a woman of quality that is since dead ; 
who, as I found by the noise she made, was newly returned from 
France. A little before the rising of the curtain, she broke out into 
a loud soliloquy, "When will the dear witches enter?" and immedi- 
ately upon their first appearance, asked a lady that sat three boxes 
from her, on her right hand, if those witches were not charming 
creatures. A little after, as Betterton was in one of the finest 
speeches of the play, she shook her fan at another lady, who sat as 
far on the left hand, and told her with a whisper, that might be heard 
all over the pit, we must not expect to see Balloon to-night. Not 
long after, calling out to a yovmg baronet by his name, who sat 
three seats before me, she asked him whether Macbeth's wife was 
still alive ; and before he could give an answer, fell a talking of the 
ghost of Banquo. She had by this time formed a little audience to 
herself, and fixed the attention of all about her. But as I had a 
mind to hear the play, I got out of the sphere of her impertinence, 
and planted myself in one of the remotest corners of the pit. 

This pretty childishness of behaviour is one of the most refined 
parts of coquetry, and is not to be attained in perfection by ladies 
that do not travel for their improvement. A natural and uncon- 
strained behaviour has something in it so agreeable, that it is no 
wonder to see people endeavouring after it. But at the same time, 
it is so very hard to hit, when it is not bom with us, that people 
often make themselves ridiculous in attempting it. 

A very ingenious French author tells us, that the ladies of the 
court of France, in his time, thought it ill-breeding, and a kind of 
female pedantry, to pronounce an hard word right; for which 
reason they took frequent occasion to use hard words, that they 
might show a poUteness in murdering them. He further adds, 
that a lady of some quahty at court, having accidentally made use 
of an hard word in a proper place, and pronounced it right, the 
whole assembly was out of countenance for her. 

I must, however, be so just to own, that there are many ladies 
who have travelled several thousands of miles without being the 
worse for it, and have brought home with them all the modesty, 
discretion, and good sense, that they went abroad with. As, on 
the contrary, there are great numbers of travelled ladies, who have 
192 



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THE SPECTATOR 

lived all their days, within the smoke of London. I have known 
a woman that never was out of the parish of St. James's betray 
as many foreign fopperies in her carriage, as she could have gleaned 
up in half the countries of Europe. 



THE COFFEE-HOUSE 

No. 49] THURSDAY, April 26, 171 1. [Steele.] 

Hominem pagina nostra sapit. — ^Mart. 

Men and their manners I describe. 

IT is very natural for a man who is not turned for mirthful 
meetings of men, or assembhes of the fair sex, to dehght in 
that sort of conversation which we find in coffee-houses. Here 
a man of my temper is in his element; for, if he cannot talk, he can 
still be more agreeable to his company, as well as pleased in him- 
self, in being only a hearer. It is a secret known but to few, yet 
of no small use in the conduct of life, that when you fall into a man's 
conversation, the first thing you should consider is, whether he 
has a greater incUnation to hear you, or that you should hear him. 
The latter is the more general desire, and I know very able flatterers 
that never speak a word in praise of the persons from whom they 
obtain daily favours, but still practise a skilful attention to what- 
ever is uttered by those with whom they converse. We are very 
curious to observe the behaviour of great men and their clients; 
but the same passions and interests move men in lower spheres; 
and I (that have nothing else to do but make observations) see in 
every parish, street, lane, and alley of this populous city, a little 
potentate that has his court and his flatterers, who lay snares for 
his affection and favour, by the same arts that are practised upon 
men in higher stations. 

In the place I most usually frequent, men differ rather in the 
time of day in which they make a figure, than in any real greatness 
above one another. I, who am at the coffee-house at six in the 
morning, know that my friend Beaver, the haberdasher, has a 
levee of more imdissembled friends and admirers than most of the 

193 



THE SPECTATOR 

courtiers or generals of Great Britain. Every man about him has, 
perhaps, a newspaper in his hand; but none can pretend to guess 
what step will be taken in any one court of Europe till Mr. Beaver 
has thrown down his pipe, and declares what measures the aUies 
must enter into upon this new posture of affairs. Our coffee-house 
is near one of the inns of court, and Beaver has the audience and 
admiration of his neighbours from six till within a quarter of eight, 
at which time he is interrupted by the students of the house; some 
of whom are ready dressed for Westminster at eight in a morning, 
with faces as busy as if they were retained in every cause there; and 
others come in their night-gowns to saunter away their time as if 
they never designed to go thither. I do not know that I meet 
in any of my walks, objects which move both my spleen and laughter 
so effectually as those young fellows at the Grecian, Squire's, 
Searle's, and all other coffee-houses adjacent to the law, who rise 
early for no other purpose but to pubhsh their laziness. One would 
think that these young virtuosos take a gay cap and slippers, with 
a scarf and party-coloured gown, to be ensigns of dignity; for the 
vain things approach each other with an air which shows they 
regard one another for their vestments. I have observed that the 
superiority among these proceeds from an opinion of gallantry 
and fashion. The gentleman in the strawberry sash, who presides 
so much over the rest, has, it seems, subscribed to every opera this 
last vmiter, and is supposed to receive favours from one of the 
actresses. 

When the day grows too busy for these gentlemen to enjoy any 
longer the pleasures of their deshabille, with any manner of confi- 
dence, they give place to men who have business or good sense in 
their faces, and come to the coffee-house either to transact affairs, 
or enjoy conversation. The persons to whose behaviour and dis- 
course I have most regard, are such as are between these two sorts 
of men; such as have not spirits too active to be happy, and well 
pleased in a private condition ; nor complexions too warm to make 
them neglect the duties and relations of Hfe. Of these sort of men 
consist the worthier part of mankind ; of these are all good fathers, 
generous brothers, sincere friends, and faithful subjects. Their 
entertainments are derived rather from reason than imagination; 
which is the cause that there is no impatience or instability in their 
speech or action. You see in their countenances they are at home, 
and in quiet possession of the present instant as it passes, without 
194 



THE SPECTATOR 

desiring to quicken it by gratifying any passion, or prosecuting any 
new design. These are the men formed for society, and those 
little communities which we express by the word neighbourhoods. 

The coffee-house is the place of rendezvous to all that live near it, 
who are thus turned to relish calm and ordinary life. Eubulus pre- 
sides over the middle hours of the day, when this assembly of men 
meet together. He enjoys a great fortune handsomely, without 
launching into expense; and exerts many noble and useful quahties, 
without appearing in any public employment. His wisdom and 
knowledge are serviceable to all that think fit to make use of them ; 
and he does the office of a counsel, a judge, an executor, and a 
friend to all his acquaintance, not only without the profits which 
attend such offices, but also without the deference and homage 
which are usually paid to them. The giving of thanks is displeas- 
ing to him. The greatest gratitude you can show him, is to let him 
see you are the better man for his services; and that you are as 
ready to oblige others, as he is to oblige you. 

In the private exigencies of his friends he lends, at legal value, 
considerable sums, which he might highly increase by rolling in the 
public stocks. He does not consider in whose hands his money 
will improve most, but where it will do most good. 

Eubulus has so great an authority in his Httle diurnal audience, 
that when he shakes his head at any piece of public news, they all of 
them appear dejected; and, on the contrary, go home to their din- 
ners with a good stomach and cheerful aspect when Eubulus seems 
to intimate that things go well. Nay, their veneration towards him 
is so great, that when they are in other company they speak and act 
after him ; are wise in his sentences, and are no sooner sat down at 
their own tables, but they hope or fear, rejoice or despond, as they 
saw him do at the coffee-house. In a word, every man is Eubulus 
as soon as his back is turned. 

Having here given an account of the several reigns that succeed 
each other from daybreak till dinner-time, I shall mention the mon- 
archs of the afternoon on another occasion, and shut up the whole 
series of them with the history of Tom the Tyrant; who, as first 
minister of the coffee-house, takes the government upon him be- 
tween the hours of eleven and twelve at night, and gives his orders 
in the most arbitrary manner to the servants below him, as to the 
disposition of liquors, coal, and cinders. R. 



195 



THE SPECTATOR 



THE ROYAL EXCHANGE 



No. 69.] SATURDAY, May 19, 1711. [Addison.] 

Hie segetes, illic veniunt felicius uvae: 

Arborei foetus alibi, atque injussa virescunt 

Gramina. Nonne vides, croceos ut Tmolus odores, 

India mittit ebur, molles sua thura Sabsei? 

At Chalybes nudi ferrum, virosaque Pontus 
* Castorea, Eliadum palmas Epirus equarum? 

, Continue has leges seternaque foedera certis 

Imposuit natura locis — 

ViRG. Georg. i. 54. 

This ground with Bacchus, that with Ceres suits; 
That other loads the trees with happy fruits; 
A fourth with grass, unbidden, decks the ground: 
Thus Tmolus is with yellow saffron crown'd; 
India black ebon and white iv'ry bears; 
And soft Idume weeps her od'rous tears: 
Thus Pontus sends her beaver stones from far; 
And naked Spaniards temper steel for war: 
Epirus for th' Elean chariot breeds 
(In hopes of palms) a race of running steeds. 
This is th' original contract; these the laws 
Impos'd by nature, and by nature's cause. 

Dryden. 

THERE is no place in the town which I so much love to frequent 
as the Royal Exchange. It gives me a secret satisfaction, and 
in some measure gratifies my vanity, as I am an Englishman, to see so 
rich an assembly of countrymen and foreigners consulting together 
upon the private business of mankind, and making this metropolis 
a kind of emporium for the whole earth. I must confess I look upon 
high-change to be a great council, in which all considerable nations 
have their representatives. Factors in the trading world are what 
ambassadors are in the poUtic world: they negotiate affairs, con- 
clude treaties, and maintain a good correspondence between those 
wealthy societies of men that are divided from one another by seas 
and oceans, or live on the different extremities of a continent. I 
have often been pleased to hear disputes adjusted between an in- 
habitant of Japan and an alderman of London, or to see a subject 
196 



THE SPECTATOR 

of the Great Mogul entering into a league with one of the Czar of 
Muscovy. I am infinitely delighted in mixing with these several 
ministers of commerce, as they are distinguished by their different 
walks and different languages. Sometimes I am jostled among a 
body of Armenians; sometimes I am lost in a crowd of Jews; and 
sometimes make one in a groupe of Dutchmen. I am a Dane, 
Swede, or Frenchman at different times ; or rather fancy myself hke 
the old philosopher, who, upon being asked what countryman he 
was, repUed, that he was a citizen of the world. 

Though I very frequently visit this busy multitude of people, I 
am known to nobody there but my friend Sir Andrew, who often 
smiles upon me as he sees me bustling in the crowd, but at the same 
time connives at my presence without taking any farther notice of 
me. There is, indeed, a merchant of Egypt, who just knows me 
by sight, having formerly remitted me some money to Grand Cairo; 
but as I am not versed in the modern Coptic, our conferences go 
no farther than a bow and a grimace. 

This grand scene of business gives me an infinite variety of solid 
and substantial entertainments. As I am a great lover of mankind, 
my heart naturally overflows with pleasure at the sight of a pros- 
perous and happy multitude, insomuch that at many public calami- 
ties I cannot forbear expressing my joy with tears that have stolen 
down my cheeks. For this reason I am wonderfully deHghted to 
see such a body of men thriving in their own private fortunes, and 
at the same time promoting the public stock; or, in other words, 
raising estates for their own families, by bringing into their country 
whatever is wanting, and carrying out of it whatever is superfluous. 

Nature seems to have taken a particular care to disseminate 
her blessings among the different regions of the world, with an 
eye to this mutual intercourse and traffic among mankind, that 
the natives of the several parts of the globe might have a kind of 
dependence upon one another, and be united together by their 
common interest. Almost every degree produces something pecu- 
liar to it. The food often grows in one country, and the sauce in 
another. The fruits of Portugal are corrected by the products of 
Barbadoes, and the infusion of a China plant is sweetened by the 
pith of an Indian cane. The Philippic islands give a flavour to 
our European bowls. The single dress of a woman of quality is 
often the product of a hundred climates. The muff and the fan 
come together from the different ends of the earth. The scarf 
197 



THE SPECTATOR 

is sent from the torrid zone, and the tippet from beneath the pole. 
The brocade petticoat rises out of the mines of Peru, and the 
diamond necklace out of the bowels of Indostan. 

If we consider our own country in its natural prospect, without 
any of the benefits and advantages of commerce, what a barren, 
uncomfortable spot of earth falls to our share ! Natural historians 
tell us, that no fruit grows originally among us besides hips and haws, 
acorns, and pig-nuts, with other delicacies of the like natiu-e; that 
our climate, of itself, and without the assistance of art, can make 
no farther advances towards a plum than to a sloe, and carries an 
apple to no greater perfection than a crab; that our melons, our 
peaches, our figs, our apricots, and cherries, are strangers among 
us, imported in different ages, and naturalized in our English 
gardens; and that they would all degenerate and fall away into 
the trash of oiu- own country, if they were wholly neglected by the 
planter, and left to the mercy of our sun and soil. Nor has traffic 
more enriched our vegetable world, than it has improved the whole 
face of nature among us. Our ships are laden with the harvest 
of every climate. Our tables are stored with spices, and oils, and 
wines. Our rooms are filled with pyramids of China, and adorned 
with the workmanship of Japan. Our morning's draught comes 
to us from the remotest comers of the earth. We repair our bodies 
by the drugs of America, and repose ourselves under Indian canopies. 
My friend Sir Andrew calls the vineyards of France our gardens; 
the spice-islands, oiu- hot-beds; the Persians, our silk-weavers; 
and the Chinese, our potters. Nature, indeed, furnishes us with 
the bare necessaries of life, but traffic gives us a great variety of 
what is useful, and at the same time supplies us with everything 
that is convenient and ornamental. Nor is it the least part of this 
our happiness, that whilst we enjoy the remotest products of the 
North and South, we are free from those extremities of weather 
which give them birth; that our eyes are refreshed with the green 
fields of Britain, at the same time that our palates are feasted with 
fruits that rise between the tropics. 

For these reasons, there are not more useful members in a com- 
monwealth than merchants. They knit mankind together in a 
mutual intercourse of good offices, distribute the gifts of nature, 
find work for the poor, add wealth to the rich, and magnificence 
to the great. Our English merchant converts the tin of his own 
coimtry into gold, and exchanges his wool for rubies. The Ma- 
198 



THE SPECTATOR 

hometans are clothed in our British manufacture, and the inhabi- 
tants of the frozen zone warmed with the fleeces of our sheep. 

When I have been upon the 'Change, I have often fancied one 
of our old kings standing in person where he is represented in 
effigy, and looking down upon the wealthy concourse of people 
with which that place is every day filled. In this case, how would 
he be surprised to hear all the languages of Eiirope spoken in this 
Httle spot of his former dominions, and to see so many private men, 
who in his time would have been the vassals of some powerful 
baron, negotiating like princes for greater sums of money than 
were formerly to be met with in the royal treasury! Trade, without 
enlarging the British territories, has given us a kind of additional 
empire. It has multipHed the number of the rich, made our landed 
estates infinitely more valuable than they were formerly, and added 
to them an accession of other estates as valuable as the lands them- 
selves. C. 



THE EVERLASTING CLUB 

No. 72.] WEDNESDAY, May 23, 1711. [Addison.] 

— Genus immortale manet, multosque per annos 
Stat fortuna domus, at avi numerantur avorum. 

ViRG. Georg. iv. 208. 

Th' immortal line in sure succession reigns, 

The fortune of the family remains, 

And grandsire's grandsons the long list contains. 

HAVING already given my reader an account of several extraor- 
dinary clubs both ancient and modem, I did not design to 
have troubled him with any more narratives of this nature; but I 
have lately received information of a club, which I can call neither 
ancient nor modern, that I dare say will be no less surprising to my 
reader than it was to myself; for which reason I shall communicate 
it to the pubUc as one of the greatest curiosities in its kind. 

A friend of mine complaining of a tradesman who is related to 
him, after having represented him as a very idle worthless fellow, 
who neglected his family and spent most of his time over a bottle, 
told me, to conclude his character, that he was a member of the 

199 



THE SPECTATOR 

Everlasting Club. So very odd a title raised my curiosity to inquire 
into the nature of a club that had such a sounding name; upon 
which my friend gave me the following account: 

The Everlasting Club consists of a hundred members, who divide 
the whole twenty-four hours among them in such a manner, that 
the club sits day and night from one end of the year to another; 
no party presuming to rise till they are reUeved by those who are in 
course to succeed them. By this means a member of the Ever- 
lasting Club never wants company; for though he is not upon duty 
himself, he is sure to find some who are; so that if he be disposed 
to take a whet, a nooning, an evening's draught, or a bottle after 
midnight, he goes to the club, and finds a knot of friends to his 
mind. 

It is a maxim in this club that the steward never dies ; for as they 
succeed one another by way of rotation, no man is to quit the great 
elbow-chair which stands at the upper end of the table, tiU his suc- 
cessor is in readiness to fill it; insomuch that there has not been 
a sede vacante in the memory of man. 

This club was instituted towards the end (or, as some of them 
say, about the middle) of the civil wars, and continued without 
interruption till the time of the great fire, which burnt them out, 
and dispersed them for several weeks. The steward at that time 
maintained his post till he had like to have been blown up with a 
neighbouring house (which was demoUshed in order to stop the 
fire) ; and would not leave the chair at last, till he had emptied all 
the bottles upon the table, and received repeated directions from 
the club to withdraw himself. This steward is frequently talked 
of in the club, and looked upon by every member of it as a greater 
man than the famous captain mentioned in my Lord Clarendon, 
who was burnt in his ship because he would not quit it without orders. 
It is said that towards the close of 1700, being the great year of 
Jubilee, the club had it under consideration whether they should 
break up or continue their session; but after many speeches and 
debates, it was at length agreed to sit out the other century. This 
resolution passed in a general club nemine contradicente. 

Having given this short accoimt of the institution and continuation 
of the Everlasting Club, I should here endeavour to say something 
of the manners and characters of its several members, which I shall 
do according to the best light I have received in this matter. 

It appears by their books in general, that, since their first institu- 
200 



THE SPECTATOR 

tion, they have smoked fifty tons of tobacco, drank thirty thousand 
butts of ale, one thousand hogsheads of red port, two hundred 
barrels of brandy, and a kilderkin of small beer. There has been 
likewise a great consumption of cards. It is also said that they 
observe the law in Ben Jonson's club, which orders the fire to be 
always kept in (jocus perennis esto), as well for the convenience of 
Hghting their pipes, as to cure the dampness of the club-room. 
They have an old woman in the nature of a vestal, whose business 
it is to cherish and perpetuate the fire which bums from generation 
to generation, and has seen the glass-house fires in and out above a 
hundred times. 

The Everlasting Club treats all other clubs with an eye of con- 
tempt, and talks even of the Kit-Cat and October as a couple of 
upstarts. Their ordinary discourse (as much as I have been able 
to learn of it) turns altogether upon such adventures as have passed 
in their own assembly; of members who have taken the glass in their 
turns for a week together, without stirring out of the club; of others 
who have smoked a hundred pipes at a sitting; of others who have 
not missed their morning's draught for twenty years together. 
Sometimes they speak in raptures of a run of ale in king Charles's 
reign; and sometimes reflect with astonishment upon games at 
whist, which have been miraculously recovered by members of 
the society, when in all hvunan probability the case was desperate. 

They delight in several old catches, which they sing at all hours 
to encourage one another to moisten their clay, and grow immortal 
by drinking; with many other edifying exhortations of the like 
nature. 

There are four general clubs held in a year, at which times they 
fill up vacancies, appoint waiters, confirm the old firemaker or elect 
a new one, settle contributions for coals, pipes, tobacco, and other 
necessaries. 

The senior member has outlived the whole club twice over, and 
has been drunk with the grandfathers of some of the present sitting 
members. C. 



20I 



THE SPECTATOR 

PARTY PATCHES 

No. 8 1.] SATURDAY, June 2, 17 11. [Addison.[| 

Qualis ubi audito venantum murmure Tigris 
Horruit in maculas. — Statius. 

As when the tigress hears the hunter's din, 
Dark angry spots distain her glossy skin. 

ABOUT the middle of last winter I went to see an opera at the 
theatre in the Haymarket, where I could not but take notice 
of two parties of very fine women, that had placed themselves in 
the opposite side-boxes, and seemed drawn up in a kind of battle 
array one against another. After a short survey of them, I iound 
they were patched differently; the faces on one hand, being spotted 
on the right side of the forehead, and those upon the other on the 
left. I quickly perceived that they cast hostile glances upon one an- 
other; and that their patches were placed in those different situations, 
as party-signals to distinguish friends from foes. In the middle boxes, 
between these two opposite bodies, were several ladies who patched 
indifferently on both sides of their faces, and seemed to sit there 
with no other intention but to see the opera. Upon inquiry I 
found, that the body of Amazons on my right hand, were Whigs, 
and those on my left, Tories; and that those who had placed them- 
selves in the middle boxes were a neutral party, whose faces had not 
yet declared themselves. These last, however, as I afterwards 
foimd, diminished daily, and took their party with one side or the 
other; insomuch that I observed in several of them, the patches, 
which were before dispersed equally, are now all gone over to the 
Whig or Tory side of the face. The censorious say, that the men, 
whose hearts are aimed at, are very often the occasions that one part 
cf the face is thus dishonoured, and lies under a kind of disgrace, 
while the other is so much set off and adorned by the owner; and 
that the patches turn to the right or to the left, according to the 
principles of the man who is most in favour. But whatever may 
be the motives of a few fantastical coquettes, who do not patch for 
the public good so much as for their own private advantage, it is 
certain, that there are several women of honour who patch out of 



THE SPECTATOR 

principle, and with an eye to the interest of their country. Nay, 
I am informed that some of them adhere so stedfastly to their party, 
and are so far from sacrificing their zeal for the public to their 
passion for any particular person, that in a late draft of marriage 
articles a lady has stipulated with her husband, that, whatever his 
opinions are, she shall be at liberty to patch on which side she 
pleases. 

I must here take notice, that Rosalinda, a famous Whig partisan, 
has most unfortunately a very beautiful mole on the Tory part of 
her forehead ; which being very conspicuous, has occasioned many 
mistakes, and given a handle to her enemies to misrepresent her 
face, as though it had revolted from the WTiig interest. But, 
whatever this natural patch may seem to intimate, it is well known 
that her notions of government are still the same. This unlucky 
mole, however, has misled several coxcombs; and like the hanging 
out of false colours, made some of them converse with Rosalinda 
in what they thought the spirit of her party, when on a sudden she 
has given them an unexpected fire, that has sunk them all at once. 
If Rosalinda is unfortunate in her mole, Nigranilla is as unhappy in 
a pimple, which forces her, against her inclinations, to patch on 
the Whig side. 

I am told that many virtuous matrons, who formerly have been 
taught to believe that this artificial spotting of the face was unlaw- 
ful, are now reconciled by a zeal for their cause, to what they could 
not be prompted by a concern for their beauty. This way of declar- 
ing war upon one another, puts me in mind of what is reported of 
the tigress, that several spots rise in her skin when she is angry, or 
as Mr. Cowley has imitated the verses that stand as the motto on 
this paper, 

She swells with angry- pride, 

And calls forth all her spots on ev'ry side. 

When I was in the theatre the time above-mentioned, I had the 
curiosity to count the patches on both sides, and found the Tory 
patches to be about twenty stronger than the WTiig; but to make 
amends for this small inequality, I the next morning found the 
whole puppet-show filled with faces spotted after the Whiggish 
manner. WTiether or no the ladies had retreated hither in order to 
rally their forces I cannot tell; but the next night they came in so 
great a body to the opera, that they outnumbered the enemy. 
203 



THE SPECTATOR 

This account of party patches will, I am afraid, appear improb- 
able to those who live at a distance from the fashionable world ; but 
as it is a distinction of a very singular nature, and what perhaps 
may never meet with a parallel, I think I should not have discharged 
the office of a faithful Spectator, had I not recorded it. 

I have, in former papers, endeavoured to expose this party-rage 
in women, as it only serves to aggravate the hatreds and animosities 
that reign among men, and in a great measure deprive the fair 
sex of those peculiar charms with which nature has endowed them. 

When the Romans and Sabines were at war, and just upon the 
point of giving battle, the women, who were allied to both of them, 
interposed with so many tears and entreaties, that they prevented 
the mutual slaughter which threatened both parties, and united 
them together in a firm and lasting peace. 

I would recommend this noble example to our British ladies, 
at a time when their country is torn with so many unnatural divi- 
sions, that if they continue, it will be a misfortune to be bom in it. 
The Greeks thought it so improper for women to interest themselves 
in competitions and contentions, that for this reason, among others, 
they forbad them, imder pain of death, to be present at the Olympic 
games, notwithstanding these were the public diversions of all 
Greece. 

As our English women excel those of all nations in beauty, they 
should endeavour to outshine them in all other accomplishments 
proper to the sex, and to distinguish themselves as tender mothers, 
and faithful wives, rather than as furious partisans. Female 
virtues are of a domestic turn. The family is the proper province 
for private women to shine in. If they must be showing their 
zeal for the public, let it not be against those who are perhaps of 
the same family, or at least of the same religion or nation, but against 
those who are the open, professed, undoubted enemies of their 
faith, liberty, and country. When the Romans were pressed with 
a foreign enemy, the ladies voluntarily contributed all their rings 
and jewels to assist the government under a public exigence, which 
appeared so laudable an action in the eyes of their countrymen, 
that from thenceforth it was permitted by a law to pronounce public 
orations at the funeral of a woman in praise of the deceased person, 
which till that time was peculiar to men. Would our English 
ladies, instead of sticking on a patch against those of their own 
country, show themselves so truly public-spirited as to sacrifice 
204 



THE SPECTATOR 

every one her necklace against the common enemy, what decrees 
ought not to be made in favour of them ? 

Since I am recollecting upon this subject such passages as occur 
to my memory out of ancient authors, I cannot omit a sentence in 
the celebrated funeral oration of Pericles, which he made in honour 
of those brave Athenians that were slain in a fight with the Lacedae- 
monians. After having addressed himself to the several ranks and 
orders of his countrymen, and shown them how they should behave 
themselves in the public cause, he turns to the female part of his 
audience: "And as for you (says he) I shall advise you in very few 
words: Aspire only to those virtues that are pecuhar to your sex; 
follow your natural modesty, and think it your greatest commenda- 
tion not to be talked of one way or other," 

C. 



ON PHYSIOGNOMY 

No. 86.] FRIDAY, June 8, 171 1. [Addison.] 
Heu quam difficile est crimen non prodere vultu! — Ovid. 

THERE are several arts which all men are in some measure 
masters of, without having been at the pains of learning them. 
Every one that speaks or reasons is a grammarian and a logician, 
though he may be wholly imacquainted with the rules of grammar 
or logic, as they are deUvered in books and systems. In the same 
manner, every one is in some degree a master of that art which is 
generally distinguished by the name of physiognomy, and naturally 
forms to himself the character or fortune of a stranger, from the 
features and Uneaments of his face. We are ho sooner presented to 
any one we never saw before, but we are immediately struck with 
the idea of a proud, a reserved, an affable, or a good-natured man; 
and upon our first going into a company of strangers, our benevo- 
lence or aversion, awe or contempt, rises naturally towards several 
particular persons, before we have heard them speak a single word, 
or so much as know who they are. 

Every passion gives a particular cast to the countenance, and is 
apt to discover itself in some feature or other. I have seen an eye 
curse for half an hour together, and an eye-brow call a man scoundrel. 
205 



THE SPECTATOR 

Nothing is more common than for lovers to complain, resent, 
languish, despair, and die, in dumb show. For my own part, I am 
so apt to frame a notion of every man's humour or circumstances by 
his looks, that I have sometimes employed myself from Charing- 
Cross to the Royal Exchange in drawing the characters of those who 
have passed by me. When I see a man with a sour, rivelled face, I 
cannot forbear pitying his wife; and when I meet with an open, in- 
genuous countenance, think on the happiness of his friends, his 
family, and relations. 

I cannot recollect the author of a famous saying to a stranger who 
stood silent in his company, " Speak, that I may see thee." But, 
with submission, I think we may be better known by our looks than 
by our words, and that a man's speech is much more easily dis- 
guised than his countenance. In this case, however, I think the 
air of the whole face is much more expressive than the lines of it: 
the truth of it is, the air is generally nothing else but the inward dis- 
position of the mind made visible. 

Those who have estabUshed physiognomy into an art, and laid 
down rules of judging men's tempers by their faces, have regarded 
the features much more than the air. Martial has a pretty epi- 
gram on this subject. 

Crine ruber, niger ore, brevis pede, lumine laesus; 
Rem magnam praestas, Zoile, si bonus es. 

Thy beard and head are of a different dye; 
Short of one foot, distorted in an eye; 
With all these tokens of a knave complete, 
Should'st thou be honest, thou'rt a dev'lish cheat. 

I have seen a very ingenious author on this subject, who founds 
his speculations on the supposition, that as a man hath in the mould 
of his face a remote likeness to that of an ox, a sheep, a lion, an hog, 
or any other creature, he hath the same resemblance in the frame 
of his mind, and is subject to those passions which are predominate 
in the creature that appears in his countenance. Accordingly he 
gives the prints of several faces that are of a different mould, and by 
a little overcharging the likeness, discovers the figures of these sev- 
eral kinds of brutal faces in human features. I remember in the 
Life of the famous Prince of Conde, the writer observes, the face 
of that prince was hke the face of an eagle, and that the prince was 
very well pleased to be told so. In this case, therefore, we may be 
206 



THE SPECTATOR 

sure, that he had in his mind some general, implicit notion of this 
art of physiognomy which I have just now mentioned; and that 
when his courtiers told him his face was made like an eagle's, he 
imderstood them in the same manner as if they had told him, there 
was something in his looks which showed him to be strong, active, 
piercing, and of a royal descent. Whether or no the different 
motions of the animal spirits in different passions, may have any 
effect on the mould of the face when the lineaments are pliable and 
tender, or whether the same kind of souls require the same kind of 
habitations, I shall leave to the consideration of the curious. In the 
mean time I think nothing can be more glorious than for a man to 
give the lie to his face, and to be an honest, just, and good-natured 
man, in spite of all those marks and signatures which nature seems 
to have set upon him for the contrary. This very often happens 
among those, who, instead of being exasperated by their own looks, 
or envying the looks of others, apply themselves entirely to the culti- 
vating of their minds, and getting those beauties which are more 
lasting, and more ornamental. I have seen many an amiable piece 
of deformity : and have observed a certain cheerfulness in as bad a 
system of features as ever was clapped together, which hath ap- 
peared more lovely than all the blooming charms of an insolent 
beauty. There is a double praise due to virtue, when it is lodged 
in a body that seems to have been prepared for the reception of vice ; 
in many such cases the soul and the body do not seem to be fellows. 
Socrates was an extraordinary instance of this nature. There 
chanced to be a great physiognomist in his time at Athens, who had 
made strange discoveries of men's tempers and inclinations by their 
outward appearances. Socrates's disciples, that they might put 
this artist to the trial, carried him to their master, whom he had 
never seen before, and did not know he was then in company with 
him. After a short examination of his face, the physiognomist pro- 
nounced him the most rude, libidinous, drunken old fellow that he 
had ever met with in his whole life. Upon which the disciples all 
burst out a laughing, as thinking they had detected the falsehood 
and vanity of his art. But Socrates told them, that the principles of 
his art might be very true, notwithstanding his present mistake; for 
that he himself was naturally inclined to those particular vices 
which the physiognomist had discovered in his countenance, but 
^hat he had conquered the strong dispositions he was bom with, 
by the dictates of philosophy. 

207 



THE SPECTATOR 

We are indeed told by an ancient author, that Socrates ven- much 
resembled Silenus in his face; which we find to have been very 
rightl} observed from the statues and busts of both that are still ex- 
tant ; as well as on several antique seals and precious stones, which 
are frequently enough to be met with in the cabinets of the curious. 
But, however observations of this nature may sometimes hold, a 
wise man should be particularly cautious how he gives credit to a 
man's outward appearance. It is an irreparable injustice we are 
guilty of towards one another, when we are prejudiced by the looks 
and features of those whom we do not know. How often do we con- 
ceive hatred against a person of worth; or fancy a man to be proud 
and ill-natured by his aspect, whom we think we cannot esteem too 
much when we are acquainted with his real character! Dr. Moore 
in his admirable System of Ethics, reckons this particular inclination 
to take a prejudice against a man for his looks, among the smaller 
\-ices in morality, and, if I remember, gives it the name of a Proso- 
polepsia. 



ADVENTURE OF M. PONTIGNAN 
No. 90.] \\'EDXESDAY, June 13, 171 1. [Addison.] 

Magniis sine viribife ignis 

Incassum furit. — Virg. 

THERE is not, in my opinion, a consideration more effectual 
to extinguish inordinate desires in the soul of man, than the 
notions of Plato and his followers upon that subject. They tell 
us, that ever}' passion which has been contracted by the soul during 
her residence in the body, remains -^-ith her in a separate state; and 
that the soul in the body, or out of the body, differs no more than 
the man does from himself when he is in his house, or in open air. 
\Mien, therefore, the obscene passions in particular have once 
taken root, and spread themselves in the soul, they cleave to her 
inseparably, and remain in her for ever, after the body is cast off 
and thrown aside. As an argument to confirm this their doctrine, 
they obser\-e, that a lewd youth, who goes on in a continued com-se 
of voluptuousness, advances by degrees into a libidinous old man; 
and that the passion survives in the mind when it is altogether dead 
208 



THE SPECTATOR 

in the body; nay, that the desire grows more violent, and (Hke all 
other habits) gathers strength by age, at the same time that it has 
no power of executing its owti purposes. If, say they, the soul is 
the most subject to these passions at a time when she has the least 
instigation from the body, we may well suppose she ^ill still retain 
them when she is entirely divested of it. The very substance of 
the soul is festered with them; the gangrene is gone too far to be 
ever cured : the inflammation will rage to all eternity. 

In this, therefore, (say the Platonists,) consists the punishment 
of a voluptuous man after death: he is tormented M-ith desires which 
it is impossible for him to gratify, solicited by a passion that has 
neither objects nor organs adapted to it: he lives in a state of in\-in- 
cible desire and impotence, and always bums in the pursuit of what 
he always despairs to possess. It is for this reason (says Plato) 
that the souls of the dead appear frequently in cemeteries, and 
hover about the places where their bodies are biiried, as stiU hanker- 
ing after their old brutal pleasures, and desiring again to enter the 
body that gave them an opportunit}' of fulfilling them. 

Some of oiu- most eminent di\Tnes have made use of this Platonic 
notion, so far as it regards the subsistence of our passions after 
death, with great beauty and strength of reason. Plato, indeed, 
carries his thought very far, when he grafts upon it his opinion of 
ghosts appearing in places of biirial. Though, I must confess, 
if one did believe that the departed souls of men and women wan- 
dered up and down these lower regions, and entertained themselves 
^^•ith the sight of their species, one could not de%-ise a more proper 
heU for an impure spirit than that which Plato has touched upon. 

The ancients seem to have drawn such a state of torments in the 
description of Tantalus, who was punished with the rage of an 
eternal thirst, and set up to the chin in water, that fled from his 
hps whene^•er he attempted to drink it. 

Virgil, who has cast the whole system of Platonic philosophy, 
so far as it relates to the soul of man, into beautiful allegories, in 
the sixth book of his ^Eneid, gives us the punishment of a volup- 
tuary after death, not unlike that which we are here speaking of. 

, — Lucent genialibus altis 
Aurea fulcra tons, epulaeque ante ora paratae 
Regifico luxu; furiarum maxima juxta 
Accubat, et manibus prohibet contingere mensas; 
Exurgitque facem attollens, atque intonat ore. 

209 



THE SPECTATOR 

They lie below on golden beds displayed, 
And genial feasts with regal pomp are made. 
The queen of furies by their side is set, 
And snatches from their mouths the untasted meat; 
Which if they touch, her hissing snakes she rears, 
Tossing her torch, and thundering in their ears. Dryden. 

That I may a little alleviate the severity of this my speculation, 
(which otherwise may lose me several of my polite readers,) I shall 
translate a story that has been quoted upon another occasion by 
one of the most learned men of the present age, as I find it in the 
original. The reader will see it is not foreign to my present subject, 
and I dare say will think it a lively representation of a person lying 
under the torments of such a kind of tantalism, or Platonic hell, 
as that which we have now under consideration. Monsieur Pon- 
tignan, speaking of a love-adventure that happened to him in the 
country, gives, the following account of it. 

" When I was in the coimtry last summer, I was often in company 
with a couple of charming women, who had all the wit and beauty 
one could desire in female companions, with a dash of coquetry, 
that from time to time gave me a great many agreeable torments. 
I was, after my way, in love with both of them, and had such 
frequent opportunities of pleading my passion to them when they 
were asunder, that I had reason to hope for particular favours from 
each of them. As I was walking one evening in my chamber with 
nothing about me but my night-gown, they both came into my room, 
and told me they had a very pleasant trick to put upon a gentleman 
that was in the same house, provided I would bear a part in it. 
Upon this they told me such a plausible story, that I laughed at 
their contrivance, and agreed to do whatever they should require 
of me. They immediately began to swaddle me up in my night- 
gown with long pieces of linen, which they folded about me till 
they had wrapt me in above an hundred yards of swathe : my arms 
were pressed to my sides, and my legs closed together by so many 
wrappers one over another, that I looked like an Egyptian mummy. 
As I stood bolt upright upon one end in this antique figure, one of 
the ladies btu-st out a laughing. 'And now, Pontignan, (says she) 
we intend to perform the promise that we find you have extorted 
from each of us. You have often asked the favour of us, and I 
dare say you are a better bred cavalier than to refuse to go to bed 
to ladies that desire it of you.' After having stood a fit of laughter, 

2IO 



THE SPECTATOR 

I begged them to uncase me, and do with me what they pleased. 
'No, no, (say they,) we like you very well as you are;' and upon 
that ordered me to be carried to one of their houses, and put to 
bed in all my swaddles. The room was lighted up on all sides; 
and I was laid very decently between a pair of sheets, with my head 
(which was, indeed, the only part I could move), upon a very high 
pillow: this was no sooner done, but my two female friends came 
into bed to me in their finest night-clothes. You may easily guess 
at the condition of a man that saw a couple of the most beautiful 
women in the world undrest and abed with him, without being able 
to stir hand or foot. I begged them to release me, and struggled 
all I could to get loose, which I did with so much violence, that 
about midnight they both leaped out of bed, crying out they were 
imdone. But seeing me safe, they took their posts again, and 
renewed their raillery. Finding all my prayers and endeavours 
were lost, I composed myself as well as I could ; and told them, that 
if they would not unbind me, I would fall asleep between them, 
and by that means disgrace them for ever. But, alas! this was 
impossible; could I have been disposed to it, they would have pre- 
vented me by several little iU-natured caresses and endearments 
which they bestowed upon me. As much devoted as I am to woman- 
kind, I would not pass such another night to be master of the whole 
sex. My reader will doubtless be curious to know what became of 
me the next morning: why, truly, my bed-fellows left me about an 
hour before day, and told me if I would be good, and lie still, they 
would send somebody to take me up as soon as it was time for me 
to rise. Accordingly about nine o'clock in the morning an old 
woman came to unswathe me. I bore all this very patiently, being 
resolved to take my revenge of my tormentors, and to keep no 
measures with them as soon as I was at liberty; but upon asking my 
old woman what was become of the two ladies, she told me she 
believed they were by that time within sight of Paris, for that they 
went away in a coach and six before five-a-clock in the morning." 



211 



THE SPECTATOR 

EXERCISE OF THE FAN 
No. I02.] \\T:DXESDAY. Juxe 2-, 1711. [Addison.] 

— Lusias animo debent aliquando dari, 
Ad cogitandum melior ut redeat sibi. — PttfEDK- 

I DO not know whether to call the following letter a satire upon 
coquettes, or a representation of their several fantastical 
accomplishments, or what other title to give it; but as it is I shall 
commimicate it to the public. It will siifficiently explain its own 
intentions, so that I shall give it my reader at length, -without either 
preface or postscript. 

"Mr. Spectator, — Women are anned with fans as men with 
swords, and sometimes do more execution with them. To the end, 
therefore, that ladies may be entire mistresses of the weapon which 
they bear, I have erected an Academy for the training up of yoimg 
women in the Exercise of the Fan, according to the most fashion- 
able airs and motions that are now practised at court. The ladies 
who cany fans under me are drawn up twice a day in my great 
hall, where they are instructed in the use of their arms, and exer- 
cised by the following words of command: 

Handle your Fans, 
Unfurl your Fans, 
Discharge your Fans, 
Ground your Fans, 
Recover your Fans, 
Flutter your Fans, 

By the right observation of these few plain words of command, a 
woman of tolerable genius who will apply herself diligently to her 
exercise for the space of one half year, shall be able to give her fan 
all the graces that can possibly enter into that Uttle modish machine. 

'•'But to the end that my readers may form to themselves a 

right notion of this exercise, I beg leave to explain it to them in all 

its parts. When my female regiment is drawn up in array, with 

every one her weapon in her hand, upon my gi^iDg the word to 

212 



THE SPECTATOR 

Handle their Fans, each of them shakes her fan at me with a smile, 
then gives her right-hand woman a tap upon the shoulder, then 
presses her Hps with the extremity of her fan, then lets her arms 
fall in an easy motion, and stands in readiness to receive the next 
word of command. All this is done T\dth a close fan, and is gener- 
ally learned in the first week. 

"The next motion is that of Unfurling the Fan, in which are 
comprehended several little flirts and \ibrations, as also gradual 
and deliberate openings, with many voluntary fallings asunder in the 
fan itself, that are seldom learned imder a month's practice. This 
part of the exercise pleases the spectators more than any other, as 
it discovers on a sudden an infinite number of Cupids, garlands, 
altars, birds, beasts, rainbows, and the like agreeable figures, that 
display themselves to view, whilst every one in the regiment holds a 
picture in her hand. 

"Upon my giving the word to Discharge their Fans, they give 
one general crack, that may be heard at a considerable distance 
when the ^ind sits fair. This is one of the most difficult parts of 
the exercise; but I have several ladies -^ith me, who at their first 
entrance could not give a pop loud enough to be heard at the further 
end of a room, who can now Discharge a Fan in such a manner, 
that it shall make a report like a pocket-pistol. I have Uke^^ise 
taken care (in order to hinder young women from letting off their 
fans in \\Tong places or imsuitable occasions) to show upon what 
subject the crack of a fan may come in properly. I have Ukewise 
invented a fan, wath which a girl of sixteen, by the help of a Uttle 
^vdnd which is enclosed about one of the largest sticks, can make as 
loud a crack as a woman of fift>' with an ordinary fan. 

"WTien the fans are thus discharged, the word of command in 
course is to Ground their Fans. This teaches a lady to quit her 
fan gracefully when she throws it aside, in order to take up a pack of 
cards, adjust a curl of hair, replace a fallen pin, or apply herself 
to any other matter of importance. This part of the exercise, as it 
only consists in tossing a fan with an air upon a long table (which 
stands by for that purpose) may be learnt in t^'o days' time as well 
as in a twelvemonth. 

"When my female regiment is thus disarmed, I generally let 

them walk about the room for some time; when on a sudden (hke 

ladies that look upon their watches after a long \-isit) they all of 

them hasten to their arms, catch them up in a huny, and place 

213 



THE SPECTATOR 

themselves in their proper stations, upon my calling out Recover 
your Fans. This part of the exercise is not difficult, provided a 
woman appUes her thoughts to it. 

" The Fluttering of the Fan is the last, and, indeed, the master- 
piece of the whole exercise; but if a lady does not misspend her 
time, she may make herself mistress of it in three months. I 
generally lay aside the dog-days and the hot time of the summer 
for the teaching of this part of the exercise; for as soon as ever I 
pronounce Flutter your Fans, the place is filled with so many 
zephyrs and gentle breezes as are very refreshing in that season 
of the year, though they might be dangerous to ladies of a tender 
constitution in any other. 

" There is an infinite variety of motions to be made use of in the 
Flutter of a Fan: there is the angry flutter, the modest flutter, the 
timorous flutter, the confused flutter, the merry flutter, and the 
amorous flutter. Not to be tedious, there is scarce any emotion 
in the mind which does not produce a suitable agitation in the fan; 
insomuch, that if I only see the fan of a disciplined lady, I know 
very well whether she laughs, frowns, or blushes. I have seen a 
fan so very angry, that it would have been dangerous for the absent 
lover who provoked it to have come within the wind of it; and at 
other times so very languishing, that I have been glad for the lady's 
sake the lover was at a sufficient distance from it. I need not add, 
that a fan is either a prude or coquette, according to the nature of 
the person who bears it. To conclude my letter, I must acquaint 
you, that I have from my own observations compiled a httle treatise 
for the use of my scholars, entitled, The Passions of the Fan ; which 
I will commvmicate to you, if you think it may be of use to the 
public. I shall have a general review on Thursday next; to which 
you shall be very welcome if you will honour it with your presence. 

"I am," &c. 

" P. S. I teach young gentlemen the whole art of gallanting a fan. 

" N. B. I have several little plain fans made for this use, to avoid 
expense." 



214 



THE SPECTATOR 

ON PEDANTRY 

No. 105.] SATURDAY, June 30, 17 11. [Addison.[| 



Id arbitror 



Adprime in vita esse utile, ne quid nimis. 

Ter. Andr. Act i, Sc. i. 

I take it to be a principal rule of life not to be too much 

addicted to one thing. 
Too much of any thing, is good for nothing. 

MY friend Will Honeycomb values himself very much upon 
what he calls the knowledge of mankind, which has cost him 
many disasters in his youth ; for Will reckons every misfortune that 
he has met with among the women, and every rencounter among 
the men, as parts of his education; and fancies he should never 
have been the man he is had he not broke windows, knocked down 
constables, disturbed honest people with his midnight serenades, 
and beat up a lewd woman's quarters when he was a young fellow. 
The engaging in adventures of this nature Will calls the studying 
of mankind; and terms this knowledge of the town the knowledge 
of the world. Will ingeniously confesses that for half his life his 
head ached every morning with reading of men over-night; and 
at present comforts himself under certain pains which he endures 
from time to time, that without them he could not have been ac- 
quainted with the gallantries of the age. This Will looks upon 
as the learning of a gentleman, and regards all other kind of science 
as the accomplishments of one whom he calls a scholar, a bookish 
man, or a philosopher. 

For these reasons Will shines in mixed company, where he has 
the discretion not to go out of his depth, and has often a certain 
way of making his real ignorance appear a seeming one. Our 
club, however, has frequently caught him tripping, at which times 
they never spare him. For as Will often insults us with the knowl- 
edge of the to\\Ti, we sometimes take our revenge upon him by cur 
knowledge of books. 

He was last week producing two or three letters which he writ 
in his youth to a coquette lady. The raillery of them was natural, 
and well enough for a mere man of the town; but very unluckily 
several of the words were wrong spelt. Will laughed this ofif at 

215 



THE SPECTATOR 

first as well as he could; but finding himself pushed on all sides, 
and especially by the Templar, he told us with a little passion that 
he never hked pedantry in spelling, and that he spelt like a gentle- 
man and not like a scholar. Upon this Will had recourse to his 
old topic of showing the narrow-spiritedness, the pride, and igno- 
rance of pedants; which he carried so far that, upon my retiring 
to my lodgings, I could not forbear throwing together such reflec- 
tions as occurred to me upon the subject. 

A man who has been brought up among books, and is able to 
talk of nothing else, is a very indifferent companion, and what we 
call a pedant. But methinks we should enlarge the title, and give 
it every one that does not know how to think out of his profession 
and particular way of life. 

What is a greater pedant than a mere man of the town? Bar 
him the play-houses, a catalogue of the reigning beauties, and an 
account of a few fashionable distempers that have befallen him, 
and you strike him dumb. How many a pretty gentleman's knowl- 
edge lies all within the verge of the court? He will tell you the 
names of the principal favourites, repeat the shrewd sayings of a 
man of quality, whisper an intrigue that is not yet blown upon 
by common fame; or, if the sphere of his observations is a little 
larger than ordinary, will perhaps enter into all the incidents, turns, 
and revolutions in a game of ombre. When he has gone thus far, 
he has shown you the whole circle of his accomplishments, his 
parts are drained, and he is disabled from any farther conversa- 
tion. What are these but rank pedants? and yet these are the 
men who value themselves most on their exemption from the 
pedantry of colleges. 

I might here mention the military pedant who always talks in a 
camp, and in storming towns, making lodgments and fighting 
battles from one end of the year to the other. Everything he speaks 
smells of gunpowder; if you take away his artillery from him, he 
has not a word to say for himself. I might likewise mention the 
law pedant, that is perpetually putting cases, repeating the trans- 
actions of Westminster-hall, wrangling with you upon the most 
indifferent circumstances of life, and not to be convinced of the 
distance of a place, or of the most trivial point in conversation, 
but by dint of argument. The state pedant is wrapt up in news, 
and lost in politics. If you mention either of the kings of Spain 
or Poland, he talks very notably; but if you go out of the Gazette 
216 



THE SPECTATOR 

you drop him. In short, a mere courtier, a mere soldier, a mere 
scholar, a mere anything, is an insipid pedantic character, and 
equally ridiculous. 

Of all the species of pedants which I have mentioned, the book 
pedant is much the most supportable; he has at least an exercised 
imderstanding, and a head which is full though confused, so that 
a man who converses with him may often receive from him hints 
of things that are worth knowing, and what he may possibly turn 
to his own advantage, though they are of little use to the owner. 
The worst kind of pedants among learned men are such as are 
naturally endued with a very small share of common sense, and 
have read a great number of books without taste or distinction. 

The truth of it is, learning, hke travelling, and all other methods 
of improvement, as it finishes good sense, so it makes a silly man 
ten thousand times more insufferable, by supplying variety of 
matter to his impertinence, and giving him an opportunity of 
abounding in absurdities. 

Shallow pedants cry up one another much more than men of solid 
and useful learning. To read the titles they give an editor or 
collator of a manuscript, you would take him for the glory of the 
commonwealth of letters, and the wonder of his age, when perhaps 
upon examination you find that he has only rectified a Greek par- 
ticle, or laid out a whole sentence in proper commas. 

They are obliged indeed to be thus lavish of their praises, that 
they may keep one another in countenance; and it is no wonder if a 
great deal of knowledge, which is not capable of making a man 
wise, has a natural tendency to make him vain and arrogant. L. 



THE MAN OF PLEASURE 

No. 151.] THURSDAY, August 23, 1711. [Steele.] 

Masdmas virtutes jacere omnes necesse est voluptate dominante. 

Ttjll. de Fin. 
Where pleasure prevails, all the greatest virtues will lose their power. 

I KNOW no one character that gives reason a greater shock 
at the same time that it presents a good ridiculous image to 
the imagination, than that of a man of wit and pleasure about the 
town. This description of a man of fashion, spoken by some with 
217 



THE SPECTATOR 

a mixture of scorn and ridicule, by others with great gravity as a 
laudable distinction, is in everybody's mouth that spends any time 
in conversation. My friend Will Honeycomb has this expression 
very frequently; and I never could understand by the story which 
follows, upon his mention of such a one, but that this man of wit 
and pleasure was either a drunkard too old for wenching, or a young 
lewd fellow with some Hveliness, who would converse with you, 
receive kind offices of you, and at the same time debauch your 
sister, or Ue with your wife. According to his description a man 
of wit, when he could have wenches for crowns a-piece, which he 
liked quite as well, would be so extravagant as to bribe servants, 
make false friendships, fight relations: I say, according to him, 
plain and simple vice was too little for a man of wit and pleasure; 
but he would leave an easy and accessible wickedness to come at 
the same thing with only the addition of certain falsehood and 
possible murder. Will thinks the town grown very dull, in that 
we do not hear so much as we used to do of these coxcombs, whom 
(without observing it) he describes as the most infamous rogues in 
nature, with relation to friendship, love, or conversation. 

When pleasure is made the chief pursuit of hfe, it will necessarily 
follow that such monsters as these will arise, from a constant appH- 
cation to such blandishments as naturally root out the force of 
reason and reflection, and substitute in their place a general im- 
patience of thought, and a constant pruriency of inordinate desire. 

Pleasure, when it is a man's chief purpose, disappoints itself; 
and the constant application to it palls the faculty of enjoying it, 
though it leaves the sense of our inability for that we wish with a 
disrelish of everything else. Thus the intermediate seasons of the 
man of pleasure are more heavy than one would impose upon the 
vilest criminal. Take him when he is awaked too soon after a 
debauch, or disappointed in following a worthless woman without 
truth, and there is no man living whose being is such a weight or 
vexation as his is. He is an utter stranger to the pleasing reflec- 
tions in the evening of a well-spent day, or the gladness of heart or 
quickness of spirit in the morning after profoimd sleep or indolent 
slumbers. He is not to be at ease any longer than he can keep 
reason and good sense without his curtains; otherwise he will be 
haunted with the reflection, that he could not beheve such a one the 
woman that upon trial he found her. What has he got by his con- 
quest, but to think meanly of her for whom a day or two before he 
218 



THE SPECTATOR 

had the highest honour ? and of himself, for perhaps wronging the 
man whom of all men living he himself would least willingly have 
injured ? 

Pleasure seizes the whole man who addicts himself to it, and will 
not give him leisure for any good office in life which contradicts the 
gaiety of the present hour. You may indeed observe in people of 
pleasure a certain complacency and absence of all severity, which the 
habit of a loose unconcerned life gives them: but tell the man of 
pleasure your secret wants, cares, or sorrows, and you will find he 
has given up the delicacy of his passions to the cravings of his appe- 
tites. He Httle knows the perfect joy he loses for the disappointing 
gratifications which he pursues. He looks at Pleasure as she ap- 
proaches and comesto himwith the recommendation of warm wishes, 
gay looks, and graceful motion; but he does not observe how she 
leaves his presence with disorder, impotence, down-cast shame, and 
conscious imperfection. She makes our youth inglorious, our age 
shameful. 

Will Honeycomb gives us twenty intimations in an evening of 
several hags whose bloom was given up to his arms; and would 
raise a value to himself for having had, as the phrase is, "very 
good women." Will's good women are the comfort of his heart, 
and support him, I warrant, by the memory of past interviews with 
persons of their condition. No, there is not in the world an occa- 
sion wherein vice makes so fantastical a figure, as at the meeting of 
two old people who have been partners in unwarrantable pleasure. 
To tell a toothless old lady that she once had a good set, or a defunct 
wencher that he once was the admired thing of the town, are satires 
instead of applauses; but, on the other side, consider the old age of 
those who have passed their days in labour, industry, and virtue, 
their decays make them but apj ear the more venerable, and the 
imperfections of their bodies are beheld as a misfortune to human 
society that their make is so little durable. 

But to return more directly to any man of wit and pleasure. In 
all orders of men, wherever this is the chief character, the person 
who wears it is a negligent friend, father, and husband, and entails 
poverty on his unhappy descendants. Mortgages, diseases, and 
settlements, are the legacies a man of wit and pleasure leaves to his 
family. All the poor rogues that make such lamentable speeches after 
every sessions at Tyburn, were, in their way, men of wit and pleasure 
before they fell into the adventures which brought them thither. 
219 



THE SPECTATOR 

Irresolution and procrastination in all a man's affairs, are the nat- 
ural effects of being addicted to pleasure. Dishonour to the gentle- 
man and bankruptcy to the trader are the portion of either whose 
chief purpose of life is dehght. The chief cause that this pvirsuit 
has been in all ages received with so much quarter from the soberer 
part of mankind has been, that some men of great talents have 
sacrificed themselves to it. The shining qualities of such people 
have given a beauty to whatever they were engaged in, and a mix- 
ture of wit has recommended madness. For let any man who 
knows what it is to have passed much time in a series of jollity, mirth, 
wit, or humorous entertainments, look back at what he was all that 
while a doing, and he will find that he has been at one instant sharp 
to some man he is sorry to have offended, impertinent to some one 
it was cruelty to treat with such freedom, vmgracefully noisy at such 
a time, immercifully calumnious at such a time; and, from the 
whole course of his applauded satisfactions, unable in the end to 
recollect any circumstance which can add to the enjoyment of his 
own mind alone, or which he would put his character upon with 
other men. Thus it is with those who are best made for becoming 
pleasiu-es; but how monstrous is it in the generaUty of mankind 
who pretend this way, without genius or inclination towards it! 
The scene then is wild to an extravagance: this is, as if fools should 
mimic madmen. Pleasure of this kind is the intemperate meals 
and loud jollities of the common rate of country gentlemen, whose 
practice and way of enjoyment is to put an end as fast as they can to 
that little particle of reason they have when they are sober. These 
men of wit and pleasure despatch their senses as fast as possible by 
drinking till they cannot taste, smoking till they cannot see, and 
roaring till they cannot hear. T. 



THE SPECTATOR 

A WOMAN'S MAN 
No. 156.] WEDNESDAY, August 29, 171 1. [Steele.] 

— Sed tu simul obligasti 
Perfidum votis caput, enitescis 
Pulchrior multo. 

HoR. 2 Od. viii. 3. 
— But thou, 
When once thou hast broke some tender vow. 
All perjur'd, dost more charming grow! 

I DO not think any thing could make a pleasanter entertain- 
ment, than the history of the reigning favourites among the 
women from time to time about this town. In such an account we 
ought to have a faithful confession of each lady for what she liked 
such and such a man, and he ought to tell us by what particular 
action or dress he believed he would be most successful. As for 
my part, I have always made as easy a judgment when a man 
dresses for the ladies, as when he is equipped for hunting or 
coursing. The woman's man is a person in his air and behaviour 
quite different from the rest of our species. His garb is more loose 
and negligent, his manner more soft and indolent; that is to say, 
in both cases there is an apparent endeavour to appear unconcerned 
and careless. In catching birds the fowlers have a method of 
imitating their voices to bring them to the snare; and your women's 
men have always a similitude of the creature they hope to betray, 
in their own conversation. A woman's man is very knowing in all 
that passes from one family to another, has pretty little officious- 
nesses, in not at a loss what is good for a cold, and it is not amiss if 
he has a bottle of spirits in his pocket in case of any sudden 
indisposition. 

Curiosity having been my prevailing passion, and indeed the sole 
entertainment of my hfe, I have sometimes made it my business to 
examine the course of intrigues as well as the manners and accom- 
plishments of such as have been most successful in that way. In all 
my observation, I never knew a man of good understanding a general 
favourite ; some singularity in his behaviour, some whim in his way 
of life, and what would have made him ridiculous among the men, 
has recommended him to the other sex. I should be very sorry to 
offend a people so fortunate as those of whom I am speaking; but 
221 



ZCTATOR 



de 
saj; besides ■- 

To 



artest <tf aE 

6Kse are toS. 



222 



THE SPECTATOR 

It is wooderful how far a food opinion of hcrsdf can cany a 
wcHnan, to make her have the least regard to a pnrfessed known 
woman's man; but as scarce one d all the wMnen who are in the 
tour of gallantries ever hears anything of what is the common 
sense of sober minds, but are entatained with a continual roond 
of flatteries, thev cannot be mistresses erf themsdves enou^ to 
make argumoits for their own conduct from the bdiaTiour of 
these men to othars. It is so far otherwise, that a general fame for 
falsehood in this kind is a recommendaticxi; and Ae coxcomb, 
loaded with the favours erf many others, is received Kke a victor that 
disdains his trophies, to be a victim to the present diarmer. 

If vou see a man mtwe full of gesture than otdinary in a puUic 
assembly, if loud upcHi no occasion, if negligent erf the company 
around him, and vet laying wait for destroying by that negligence, 
you may take it for granted that he has ruined many a isii <me. The 
woman's man expresses himself whedly in that naotiexi which we 
call strutting. An elevated chest, a pinched hat, a measmaUe 
step, and a sly surveying eye. are the marks of him. Now and thai 
you see a gentleman with all these accomjdishments; but alas! any 
one of them is enou^ to xmdo thousands. Whoi a gsitleman with 
such perfections adds to it suitalde kaming, there should be pui^ 
warning of his residence in town, that we may remove our wives 
and dau^ters. It happens sometimes that sucii a fine man has 
read all the miscellany poems, a few of our conaedies. and has the 
translation of Ovid's Epistles by heart. "Oh if it were posable 
that such a one could be as true as he is char min g! but that is too 
much, the women will share such a dear false man : a little gallantry 
to hear him talk one would indulge c«ie's self in, let him reckcHi the 
stieis of one's fan. say something of the erapids in it; and then call 
one so man y soft names which a man of his learning has at his 
fingeis-ends. There sure is some excuse for frailty, when attacked 
by force against a weak woman." Such is the soliloqay erf many 
a lady one might name, at the sight erf cne erf these who makes 
it no iniqtiity to go on from eiay to day in the an ol women- 
slaughter. 

It is certain that people are got into a way erf affectation, with a 
manner of overlooking the most solid virtues, and admiring the most 
trivial excellencies. The woman is so far from e^)ecting to be 
cemtemned for being a ^-ery injueiicious siDy animal, that while she 
can preserve her features and her mioi, she knows that she is stiD 
223 



THE SPECTATOR 

the object of desire; and there is a sort of secret ambition, from 
reading frivolous books, and keeping as frivolous company, each 
side to be amiable in imperfection, and arrive at the characters 
of the Dear Deceiver and the Perjured Fair, 



ACCOUNT OF A GRINNING-MATCH 

No. 173.] TUESDAY, September 18, 171 1. [-.\ddison.] 

— Remove fera monstra, tuaeque 
Saxificos vultvis, quaecunque ea, tolle Medusse. — Ovid. Met. 

IN a late paper I mentioned the project of an ingenious author 
for the erecting of several handicraft prizes to be contended 
for by our British artisans, and the influence they might have 
towards the improvement of our several manufactures. I have 
since been very much surprised by the followmg advertisement 
which I find in the Post-Boy of the nth instant, and again re- 
peated in the Post-Boy of the 15th. 

"On the gth of October next will be run for upon Coleshill 
Heath, in Wan\-ickshire, a plate of six guineas value, 3 heats, by 
any horse, mare, or gelding, that hath not won above the value of 
5/., the winnmg horse to be sold for 10/., to carry 10 stone weight, if 
14 hands high; if above or imder, to carry or be allowed weight for 
mches, and to be entered Friday the 15th at the Swan in Coleshill, 
before 6 in the evening. Also a plate of less value to be nm for by 
asses. The same day a gold ring to be grinned for by men." 

The first of these diversions, that is to be exhibited by the 10/. 
race-horses, may probably have its use; but the two last, in which 
the asses and men are concerned, seem to me altogether extraordi- 
nary and unaccountable. WTiy thev should keep running asses 
at Coleshill, or how making mouths turns to account m Warwick- 
shure, more than in any other parts of England, I cannot compre- 
hend. I have looked over all the 01}Tnpic games, and do not find 
anything in them like an ass-race, or a match at grinning. How- 
ever it be, I am informed, that several asses are now kept in body- 
224 



THE SPECTATOR 

clothes, and sweated every morning upon the heath; and that all 
the country-fellows within ten miles of the Swan grin an hour or 
two in their glasses every morning, in order to qualify themselves 
for the 9th of October. The prize which is proposed to be grinned 
for, has raised such an ambition among the common people of out- 
grinning one another, that many very discerning persons are afraid 
it should spoil most of the faces in the county; and that a Warrvick- 
shire man will be known by his grin, as Roman Catholics imagine 
a Kentish man is by his tail. The gold ring which is made the 
prize of deformity, is just the reverse of the golden apple that was 
formerly made the prize of beauty, and should carry for its posie 
the old motto inverted, 

Detur tetriori. 
Or, to accommodate it to the capacity of the combatants, 

The frightfuU'st grinner 
Be the winner. 

In the mean while I would advise a Dutch painter to be present 
at this great controversy of faces, in order to make a collection of 
the most remarkable grins that shall be there exhibited. 

I must not here omit an account which I lately received of one of 
these grinning matches from a gentleman, who, upon reading the 
above-mentioned advertisement, entertained a coffee-house with 
the following narrative. Upon the taking of Namur, among other 
pubhc rejoicings made on that occasion, there was a gold ring 
given by a WTiig justice of the peace to be grinned for. The first 
competitor that entered the Usts, was a black, swarthy Frenchman, 
who accidentally passed that way, and being a man naturally of a 
withered look and hard features, promised himself good success. 
He was placed upon a table in the great point of view, and looking 
upon the company like Milton 's death, 

Grinn'd horribly a ghastly smile. 

His muscles were so drawn together on each side of his face that 
he showed twenty teeth at a grin, and put the country in some pain, 
lest a foreigner should carry away the honour of the day; but upon 
a further trial they found he was master only of the merry grin. 

The next that movmted the table was a Malecontent in those 
days, and a great master of the whole art of grinning, but particu- 
225 



THE SPECTATOR 

larly excelled in the angry grin. He did his part so well, that he is 
said to have made half a dozen women miscarry; but the justice 
being apprized by one who stood near him, that the fellow who 
grinned in his face was a Jacobite, and being unwilling that a dis- 
affected person should win the gold ring, and be looked upon as the 
best grinner in the country, he ordered the oaths to be tendered 
unto him upon his quitting the table, which the grinner refusing, 
he was set aside as an unqualified person. There were several 
other grotesque figures that presented themselves, which it would 
be too tedious to describe. I must not, however, omit a plough- 
man, who lived in the further part of the country, and being very 
lucky in a pair of long lanthom-jaws, wrung his face into such a 
hideous grimace, that every feature of it appeared under a different 
distortion. The whole company stood astonished at such a com- 
pHcated grin, and were ready to assign the prize to him, had it not 
been proved by one of his antagonists that he had practised with 
verjuice for some days before, and had a crab found upon him at 
the very time of grinning; upon which the best judges of grinning 
declared it as their opinion, that he was not to be looked upon as a 
fair grinner, and therefore ordered him to be set aside as a cheat. 

The prize, it seems, fell at length upon a cobbler, Giles Gorgon 
by name, who produced several new grins of his own invention, 
having been used to cut faces for many years together over his last. 
At the very first grin he cast every human feature out of his counte- 
nance, at the second he became the face of a spout, at the third a 
baboon, at the fourth the head of a bass-viol, and at the fifth a pair 
of nut-crackers. The whole assembly wondered at his accompUsh- 
ments, and bestowed the ring on him unanimously; but, what he 
esteemed more than all the rest, a country wench whom he had 
wooed in vain for above five years before, was so charmed with his 
grins, and the applauses which he received on all sides, that she 
married him the week following, and to this day wears the prize 
upon her finger, the cobbler having made use of it as his wedding- 
ring. 

This paper might perhaps seem very impertinent, if it grew 
serious in the conclusion. I would nevertheless leave it to the con- 
sideration of those who are the patrons of this monstrous trial of 
skill, whether or no they are not guilty, in some measure, of an 
affront to their species, in treating after this manner the Human 
Face Divine, and turning that part of us, which has so great an 
226 



THE SPECTATOR 

image impressed upon it, into the image of a monkey; whether the 
raising such silly competitions among the ignorant, proposing 
prizes for such useless accompUshments, filling the common people's 
heads with such senseless ambitions, and inspiring them with such 
absurd ideas of superiority and pre-eminence, has not in it some- 
thing immoral as well as ridiculous. 



ACCOUNT OF A WHISTLING MATCH 

No. 179.] TUESDAY, September 25, 1711. [Addison.] 

Centurias seniorum agitant expertia frugis: 
Celsi praetereunt austera poemata Rhamnes. 
Omne tulit punctum qui miscuit utile dulci, 
Lectorem delectando, pariterque monendo. — HoR. 

I^IAY cast my readers under two general di\isions, the Mer- 
curial and the Saturnine. The first are the gay part of my 
disciples, who require speculations of wit and humour; the others 
are those of a more solemn and sober turn, who find no pleasure but 
in papers of morality and sound sense. The former call everything 
that is serious stupid ; the latter look upon everything as impertinent 
that is ludicrous. Were I always grave, one half of my readers 
would fall off from me : were I always merry, I should lose the other. 
I make it therefore my endeavour to find out entertainments for 
both kinds, and by that means perhaps consult the good of both, 
more than I should do did I always wTite to the particular taste of 
either. As they neither of them know what I proceed upon, the 
sprightly reader, who takes up my paper in order to be diverted, 
very often finds himself engaged unawares in a serious and profit- 
able coiirse of thinking; as, on the contrary, the thoughtful man, 
who perhaps may hope to find something soHd, and full of deep re- 
flection, is ver}^ often insensibly betrayed into a fit of mirth. In a 
word, the reader sits dovm to my entertainment without knowing 
his bill of fare, and has therefore at least the pleasure of hoping 
there may be a iish to his palate. 

I must confess, were I left to myself, I would rather aim at in- 
structing than diverting; but if we will be useful to the world, we 
must take it as we find it. Authors of professed severity discourage 
227 



THE SPECTATOR 

the looser part of mankind from having anything to do with their 
writings. A man must have virtue in him, before he will enter 
upon the reading of a eneca or an Epictetus. The very title of a 
moral treatise has something in it austere and shocking to the care- 
less and inconsiderate. 

For this reason several unthinking persons fall in my way, who 
would give no attention to lectures delivered with a religious serious- 
ness or a philosophic gravity. They are insnared into sentiments 
of wisdom and virtue when they do not think of it ; and if by that 
means they arrive only at such a degree of consideration as may dis- 
pose them to listen to more studied and elaborate discourses, I shall 
not think my speculations useless. I might likewise observe, that 
the gloominess in which sometimes the minds of the best men are in- 
volved, very often stands in need of such little incitements to mirth 
and laughter as are apt to disperse melancholy, and put our facul- 
ties in good himiour. To which some will add, that the British 
climate more than any other makes entertainments of this nature 
in a manner necessary. 

If what I have here said does not recommend, it will at least ex- 
cuse, the variety of my speculations. I would not willingly laugh 
but in order to instruct, or if I sometimes fail in this point, when my 
mirth ceases to be instructive, it shall never cease to be innocent. 
A scrupulous conduct in this particular has, perhaps, more merit 
in it than the generality of readers imagine: did they know how 
many thoughts occur in a point of humour, which a discreet author 
in modesty suppresses ; how many strokes of raillery present them- 
selves, which could not fail to please the ordinary taste of mankind, 
but are stifled in their birth by reason of some remote tendency 
which they carry in them to corrupt the minds of those who read 
them; did they know how many glances of ill-nature are indus- 
triously avoided for fear of doing injury to the reputation of another; 
they wovild be apt to think kindly of those writers who endeavour 
to make themselves diverting without being immoral. One may 
apply to these authors that passage io Waller, 

Poets lose half the praise they would have got, 
Were it but known what they discreetly blot. 

As nothing is more easy than to be a wit with all the above-men- 
tioned liberties, it requires some genius and invention to appear 
such without them. 

228 



THE SPECTATOR 

What I have here said is not only in regard to the public, but with 
an eye to my particular correspondent, who has sent me the follow- 
ing letter which I have castrated in some places upon these consider- 
ations. 

" Sir, — Having lately seen your discourse upon a match of grin- 
ning, I cannot forbear giving you an account of a whistling match, 
which, with many others, I was entertained with about three years 
since at the Bath. The prize was a guinea, to be conferred upon 
the ablest whistler, that is, on him who could whistle clearest, and 
go through his tune without laughing, to which at the same time he 
was provoked by the antic postures of a Merry-Andrew, who was 
to stand upon the stage and play his tricks in the eye of the per- 
former. There were three competitors for the guinea. The first 
was a ploughman of a very promising aspect; his features were 
steady, and his muscles composed in so inflexible a stupidity, that 
upon his first appearance every one gave the guinea for lost. The 
pickled-herring, however, found the way to shake him, for upon his 
whistling a country jig, this unlucky wag danced to it with such va- 
riety of distortions and grimaces, that the countryman could not 
forbear smiling upon him, and by that means spoiled his whistle 
and lost the prize. 

"The next that mounted the stage was an under-citizen of the 
Bath, a person remarkable among the inferior people of that place 
for his great wisdom and his broad band. He contracted his 
mouth with much gravity, and, that he might dispose his mind to 
be more serious than ordinary, begun the tune ' of the Children in 
the Wood,' and went through part of it with good success; when on 
a sudden the wit at his elbow, who had appeared wonderfully grave 
and attentive for some time, gave him a touch upon the left shoulder, 
and stared him in the face with so bewitching a grin, that the 
whistler relaxed his fibres into a kind of simper, and at length burst 
out into an open laugh. The third who entered the Hsts was a 
foot-man, who, in defiance of the Merry-Andrew and all his arts, 
whistled a Scotch tune and an Italian sonata, with so settled a 
countenance, that he bore away the prize, to the great admiration 
of some hundreds of persons, who, as well as myself, were present 
at this trial of skill. Now, sir, I humbly conceive, whatever you 
have determined of the grinners, the whistlers ought to be encour- 
aged, not only as their art is practised without distortion, but as it 
229 



THE SPECTATOR 

improves country music, promotes gravity, and teaches ordinary 
people to keep their countenances, if they see anything ridiculous 
in their betters; besides that, it seems an entertainment very par- 
ticularly adapted to the Bath, as it is usual for a rider to whistle to 
his horse when he would make his waters pass. 

"I am, sir," &c. 

POSTSCRIPT. 

"After you have despatched these two important points of 
grinning and whisthng, I hope you will oblige the world with some 
reflections upon yawning, as I have seen it practised on a twelfth- 
night, among other Christmas gambols, at the house of a very 
worthy gentleman, who always entertains his tenants at that time 
of the year. They yawn for a Cheshire cheese, and begin about 
midnight, when the whole company is disposed to be drowsy. He 
that yawns widest, and at the same time so naturally as to produce 
the most yawns among the spectators, carries home the cheese. 
If you handle this subject as you ought, I question not but your 
paper will set half the kingdom a yawning, though I dare promise 
you it will never make anybody fall asleep." 



ON TEMPERANCE 

No. 195.] SATURDAY, October 13, 1711. [Addison.] 

Nijirtoi oiid' iffaffiv Sau irXiop ij/jucrv iravrSs' 
Odd' 6ffov iv ixaXdxv re di d(T<po5^\({> /j-ey 6veLap. 

Hes. Oper. & Dier. 1. i. 40. 

Fools not to know that half exceeds the whole, 
How blest the sparing meal and temperate bowl. 

THERE is a story in the Arabian Nights Tales of a king who 
had long languished under an ill habit of body, and had taken 
abundance of remedies to no piu-pose. At length, says the fable, 
a physician cured him by the following method. He took a hollow 
ball of wood, and filled it with several drugs; after which he closed it 
up so artificially that nothing appeared. He Ukewise took a mall, 
and after having hollowed the handle, and that part which strikes 
230 



THE SPECTATOR 

the ball, he inclosed in them several drugs after the same manner 
as in the ball itself. He then ordered the sultan, who was his 
patient, to exercise himself early in the morning with these rightly- 
prepared instruments, till such time as he should sweat: when, as 
the story goes, the \irtue of the medicaments perspiring through 
the wood had so good an influence on the sultan's constitution, 
that they cured him of an indisposition which all the compositions 
he had taken inwardly had not been able to remove. This eastern 
allegory is finely contrived to show us how beneficial bodily labour 
is to health, and that exercise is the most effectual physic. I have 
described in my hundred and fifteenth paper, from the general 
structure and mechanism of an human body, how absolutely nec- 
essary exercise is for its preservation. I shall in this place recom- 
mend another great preservative of health, which in many cases 
produces the same effects as exercise, and may, in some measure, 
supply its place, where opportunities of exercise are wanting. 
The preservative I am speaking of is temperance, which has those 
particular advantages above all other means of health, that it may 
be practised by all ranks and conditions, at any season, or in any 
place. It is a kind of regimen into which every man may put him- 
self, without interruption to business, expense of money, or loss of 
time. If exercise throws off all superfluities, temperance prevents 
them; if exercise clears the vessels, temperance neither satiates 
nor overstrains them; if exercise raises proper ferments in the 
humours, and promotes the circulation of the blood, temperance 
gives nature her full play, and enables her to exert herself in all 
her force and vigour; if exercise dissipates a growing distemper, 
temperance starves it. 

Physic, for the most part, is nothing else but the substitute of 
exercise or temperance. Medicines are indeed absolutely neces- 
sary in acute distempers, that cannot wait the slow operations of 
these two great instruments of health; but did men live in an 
habitual course of exercise and temperance, there would be but 
little occasion for them. Accordingly we find that those parts of 
the world are the most healthy, where they subsist by the chace; 
and that men live longest, when their lives were employed in hunt- 
mg, and when they had little food besides what they caught. Blis- 
tering, cupping, bleeding, are seldom of use but to the idle and 
intemperate; as all those inward applications which are so much 
in practice among us, are for the most part nothing else but expe- 
231 



THE SPECTATOR 

dients to make luxury consistent with health. The apothecary is 
perpetually employed in countermining the cook and the vintner. 
It is said of Diogenes, that meeting a yoimg man who was going to 
a feast, he took him up in the street and carried him home to his 
friends, as one who was running into imminent danger, had not he 
prevented him. What would that philosopher have said had he 
been present at the gluttony of a modem meal? Would not he 
have thought the master of a family mad, and have begged his 
servants to tie down his hands, had he seen him devoiu- fowl, fish, 
and flesh, swallow oil and vinegar, wines and spices; throw down 
salads of twenty different herbs, sauces of an hundred ingredients, 
confections, and fruits of numberless sweets and flavours? What 
unnatural motions and counter ferments must such a medley of 
intemperance produce in the body? For my part, when I behold a 
fashionable table set out in all its magnificence, I fancy that I 
see gouts and dropsies, fevers and lethargies, with other innumer- 
able distempers lying in ambuscade among the dishes. 

Nature delights in the most plain and simple diet. Every animal 
but man keeps to one dish. Herbs are the food of this species, 
fish of that, and flesh of a third. Man falls upon everything that 
comes in his way; not the smallest fruit or excrescence of the earthy 
scarce a berry or a mushroom, can escape him. 

It is impossible to lay down any determined rule for temperance, 
because what is luxury in one may be temperance in another, but 
there are few that have lived any time in the world, who are not 
judges of their own constitutions, so far as to know what kinds and 
what proportions of food do best agree with them. Were I to con- 
sider my readers as my patients, and to prescribe such a kind of 
temperance as is accommodated to aU persons, and such as is par- 
ticularly suitable to our climate and way of living, I would copy 
the following rules of a very eminent physician. "Make your 
whole repast out of one dish. If you indulge in a second, avoid 
drinking anything strong, until you have finished your meal; at the 
same time abstain from all sauces, or at least such as are not the 
most plain and simple." A man could not be well guilty of gluttony 
if he stuck to these few obvious and easy rules. In the first case, 
there would be no variety of tastes to solicit his palate, and occa- 
sion excess; nor, in the second, any artificial provocatives to relieve 
satiety, and create a false appetite. Were I to prescribe a rule 
for drinking, it should be formed upon a saying quoted by sir 
232 



THE SPECTATOR 

William Temple; "The first glass for myself, the second for my 
friends, the third for good-humour, and the fourth for mine ene- 
mies." But because it is impossible for one who lives in the world 
to diet himself always in so philosophical a manner, I think every 
man should have his days of abstinence, according as his constitu- 
tion will permit. These are great reliefs to nature, as they qualify 
her for struggling with hunger and thirst, whenever any distemper 
or duty of life may put her upon such difficulties; and at the same 
time give her an opportunity of extricating herself from her oppres- 
sions, and recovering the several tones and springs of her distended 
vessels. Besides that, abstinence well-timed often kills a sick- 
ness in embryo, and destroys the first seeds of an indisposition. 
It is observed by two or three ancient authors, that Socrates, not- 
withstanding he lived in Athens during that great plague which 
has made so much noise through all ages, and has been celebrated 
at different times by such eminent hands; I say, notwithstanding 
that he lived in the time of this devouring pestilence, he never 
caught the least infection, which those writers unanimously ascribe 
to that uninterrupted temperance which he always observed. 

And here I cannot but mention an observation which I have 
often made, upon reading the lives of the philosophers, and com- 
paring it with any series of kings or great men of the same number. 
If we consider these ancient sages, a great part of whose philosophy 
consisted in a temperate and abstemious course of life, one would 
think the life of a philosopher and the life of a man were of two 
different dates. For we find that the generality of these wise men 
were nearer a hundred than sixty years of age at the time of their 
respective deaths. But the most remarkable instance of the efficacy 
of temperance towards the procuring of long life, is what we meet 
with in a little book published by Lewis Comaro the Venetian; 
which I the rather mention, because it is of undoubted credit, as 
the late Venetian ambassador, who was of the same family, attested 
more than once in conversation when he resided in England. 
Comaro, who was the author of the little treatise I am mentioning, 
was of an infirm constitution until about forty, when, by obstinately 
persisting in an exact course of temperance, he recovered a perfect 
state of health; insomuch that at fourscore he published his book, 
which has been translated into English under the title of " Sure and 
Certain Methods of Attaining a Long and Healthy Life." He 
lived to give a third or fourth edition of it; and, after having passed 

233 



THE SPECTATOR 

his hundredth year, died without pain or agony, and like one who 
falls asleep. The treatise I mention has been taken notice of by 
several eminent authors, and is written with such a spirit of cheer- 
fulness, religion, and good sense, as are the natural concomitants 
of temperance and sobriety. The mixture of the old man in it is 
rather a recommendation than a discredit to it. 

Having designed this paper as the sequel to that upon exercise, 
I have not here considered temperance as it is a moral virtue, which 
I shall make the subject of a future speculation, but only as it is 
the means of health. L. 



CHARACTER OF THE SALAMANDERS 

No. 198.] WEDNESDAY, October 17, 171 1. [Addison.] 

Cervae luporum prasda rapacium 

Sectamur ultro, quos opimus 

Fallere et effurgere est triumphus. — HOR. 

THERE is a species of women, whom I shall distinguish by 
the name of Salamanders. Now a salamander is a kind 
of heroine in chastity, that treads upon fire, and lives in the midst 
of flames, without being hurt. A salamander knows no distinc- 
tion of sex in those she converses with, grows familiar with a stranger 
at first sight, and is not so narrow-spirited as to observe whether 
the person she talks to be in breeches or in petticoats. She admits 
a male visitant to her bed-side, plays with him a whole afternoon at 
picquette, walks with him two or three hours by moon-light; and 
is extremely scandalized at the unreasonableness of an husband, 
or the severity of a parent, that would debar the sex from such 
innocent liberties. Your salamander is therefore a perpetual de- 
claimer against jealousy, an admirer of the French good-breeding, 
and a great stickler for freedrm in conversation. In short, the 
salamander lives in an invincible state of simplicity and innocence: 
her constitution is preserved in a kind of natural frost; she wonders 
what people mean by temptations, and defies mankind to do their 
worst. Her chastity is engaged in a constant ordeal, or fiery trial; 
(like good queen Emma,) the pretty innocent walks blindfold 

234 



THE SPECTATOR 

among burning plough-shares, without being scorched or singed 
by them. 

It is not therefore for the use of the salamander, whether in a 
married or single state of life, that I design the following paper; 
but for such females only as are made of flesh and blood, and find 
themselves subject to human frailties. 

As for this part of the fair sex, who are not of the salamander 
kind, I would most earnestly advise them to observe a quite dif- 
ferent conduct in their behaviour; and to avoid as much as possible 
what reUgion calls temptations, and the world opportunities. Did 
they but know how many thousands of their sex have been gradu- 
ally betrayed from innocent freedoms to ruin and infamy; and how 
many millions of ours have begun with flatteries, protestations, and 
endearments, but ended with reproaches, perjury, and perfidious- 
ness; they would shun hke death the very first approaches of one 
that might lead them into inextricable labyrinths of guilt and misery. 
I must so far give up the cause of the male world, as to exhort the 
female sex in the language of Chamont in the Orphan, 

Trust not a man ; we are by nature false, 
Dissembling, subtle, cruel, and unconstant: 
When a man talks of love, with caution trust him; 
But if he swears, he'll certainly deceive thee. 

I might very much enlarge upon this subject, but shall conclude it 
with a story which I lately heard from one of our Spanish oflacers, 
and which may show the danger a woman incurs by too great 
familiarities with a male companion. 

An inhabitant of the kingdom of Castile, being a man of more 
than ordinary prudence, and of a grave, composed behaviour, 
determined about the fiftieth year of his age to enter upon wedlock. 
In order to make himself easy in it, he cast his eye upon a young 
woman who had nothing to recommend her but her beauty and her 
education, her parents having been reduced to great poverty by the 
wars which for some years have laid that whole country waste. 
The Castilian having made his addresses to her and married her, 
they hved together in perfect happiness for some time; when at 
length the husband's affairs made it necessary for him to take a 
voyage to the kingdom of Naples, where a great part of his estate 
lay. The wife loved him too tenderly to be left behind him. Tliey 
had not been on shipboard above a day, when they unluckily fell 

235 



THE SPECTATOR 

into the hands of an Algerine pirate, who carried the whole com- 
pany on shore, and made them slaves. The Castilian and his wife 
had the comfort to be under the same master; who seeing how 
dearly they loved one another, and gasped after their liberty, de- 
manded a most exorbitant price for their ransom. The CastiUan, 
though he would rather have died in slavery himself than have paid 
such a sum as he found would go near to ruin him, was so moved 
with compassion towards his vdie, that he sent repeated orders to 
his friend in Spain (who happened to be his next relation) to sell his 
estate, and transmit the money to him. His friend, hoping that 
the terms of his ransom might be made more reasonable, and un- 
willing to sell an estate which he himself had some prospect of 
inheriting, formed so many delays, that three whole years passed 
away without anything being done for the setting of them at liberty. 

There happened to live a French renegado in the same place 
where the CastiUan and his wife were kept prisoners. As this fellow 
had in him all the \-ivacity of his nation, he often entertained the 
captives ^-ith accovmts of his own adventures; to which he sometimes 
added a song or a dance, or some other piece of mirth, to divert 
them during their confinement. His acquaintance with the manners 
of the Algerines enabled him Ukewise to do them several good 
offices. The Castilian, as he was one day in conversation with this 
renegado, discovered to him the negUgence and treachery of his 
correspondent in Castile, and at the same time asked his adrice 
how he should behave himself in that exigency : he further told the 
renegado, that he found it would be impossible for him to raise the 
money, unless he himself might go over to dispose of his estate. 
The renegado, after ha\-ing represented to him that his Algerine 
master would never consent to his release upon such a pretence, at 
length contrived a method for the Castihan to make his escape in 
the habit of a seaman. The Castilian succeeded in his attempt; and 
ha\-ing sold his estate, being afraid lest the money should miscarry 
by the way, and determining to perish with it rather than lose what 
was much dearer to him than his Ufe, he returned himself in a Uttle 
vessel that was going to Algiers. It is impossible to describe the 
joy he felt upon this occasion, when he considered that he should 
soon see the vdie whom he so much loved, and endear himself 
more to her by this uncommon piece of generosity. 

The renegado, during the husband's absence, so insinuated 
himself into the graces of his young wife, and so turned her head 
236 



THE SPECTATOR 

with stories of gallantry, that she quickly thought him the finest 
gentleman she had ever conversed with. To be brief, her mind 
was quite ahenated from the honest Castihan, whom she was 
taught to look upon as a formal old fellow, unworthy the possession 
of so charming a creature. She had been instructed by the renegado 
how to manage herself upon his arrival; so that she received him 
with an appearance of the utmost love and gratitude, and at length 
persuaded him to trust their common friend the renegado with the 
money he had brought over for their ransom; as not questioning 
but he would beat down the terms of it, and negotiate the affair 
more to their advantage than they themselves could do. The good 
man admired her prudence and followed her advice. I wish I 
could conceal the sequel of this story, but since I cannot, I shall 
despatch it in as few words as possible. The CastiUan having 
slept longer than ordinary the next morning, upon his awaking 
found his wife had left him: he immediately rose and inquired 
after her, but was told that she was seen with the renegado about 
break of day. In a word, her lover having got all things ready for 
their departure, they soon made their escape out of the territories 
of Algiers, carried away the money, and left the Castihan in cap- 
tivity: who partly through the cruel treatment of the incensed 
Algerine his master, and partly through the unkind usage of his 
unfaithful wife, died some few months after. 



SATIRE ON WOMEN 

No. 209.] TUESDAY, October 30, 1711. [Addison.] 

Eff^X^s dfjieivov. 0118^ plyiov KaKrjs. 

SiMONIDES. 

Of earthly goods, the best is a good wife; 
A bad, the bitterest curse of human life. 

THERE are no authors I am more pleased with, than those who 
show human nature in a variety of views, and describe the 
several ages of the world in their different manners. A reader 
cannot be more rationally entertained, than by comparing the 

237 



THE SPECTATOR 

virtues and \'ices of his own times with those which prevailed in the 
times of his forefathers; and drawing a parallel in his mind betv\"een 
his own private character, and that of other persons, whether of his 
own age, or of the ages that went before him. The contemplation 
of mankind, under these changeable colours, is apt to shame us 
out of any particular %'ice, or animate us to any particular virtue; 
to make us pleased or displeased with ourselves in the most proper 
points; to clear our minds of prejudice and prepossession; and 
rectify that narrowness of temper which incHnes us to think amiss 
of those who differ from ourselves. 

If we look into the manners of the most remote ages of the world, 
we discover human nature in her simplicity; and, the more we come 
downwards towards our own times, may observe her hiding herself 
in artifices and refinements, polished insensibly out of her original 
plainness, and at length, entirely lost under form and ceremony, and 
(what we call) good -breeding. Read the accounts of men and 
women as they are given us by the most ancient writers, both sacred 
and profane, and you would think you were reading the history of 
another species. 

Among the ■miters of antiquity, there are none who instruct us 
more openly in the manners of their respective times in which they 
lived, than those who have employed themselves in satire, under 
what dress soever it may appear; as there are no other authors whose 
province it is to enter so directly into the ways of men, and set their 
miscarriages in so strong a light. 

Simonides, a poet famous in his generation, is, I think, author 
of the oldest satire that is now extant; and, as some say, of the first 
that was ever written. This poet flourished about four hundred 
years after the siege of Troy; and shows, by his way of writing, 
the simphcity, or rather coarseness, of the age in which he lived. 
I have taken notice, in my himdred and sixty-first speculation, that 
the rule of obser\ing what the French call the Bienseance in an 
allusion, has been found out of later years; and that the ancients, 
pro\'ided there was a Hkeness in their simihtudes, did not much 
trouble themselves about the decency of the comparison. The 
satires or iambics of Simonides, with which I shall entertain my 
readers in the present paper, are a remarkable instance of what I 
formerly advanced. The subject of this satire is woman. He 
describes the sex in their several characters, which he derives to 
them from a fanciful supposition raised upon the doctrine of pre- 
238 



THE SPECTATOR 

existence. He tells us, that the gods formed the souls of women out 
of those seeds and principles which compose several kinds of animals 
and elements; and that their good or bad dispositions arise in them 
according as such and such seeds and principles predominate in 
their constitutions. I have translated the author very faithfully, 
and if not word for word (which our language would not bear), at 
least so as to comprehend every one of his sentiments, without 
adding anything of my ovra. I have already apologized for this 
author's want of delicacy, and must farther premise, that the 
following satire affects only some of the lower part of the sex, and 
not those who have been refined by a polite education, which was 
not so common in the age of this poet. 

"In the beginning God made the souls of womankind out of 
different materials, and in a separate state from their bodies. 

"The souls of one kind of women were formed out of those 
ingredients which compose a swine. A woman of this make is 
a slut in her house, and a glutton at her table. She is uncleanly 
in her person, a slattern in her dress, and her family is no better 
than a dunghill. 

" A second sort of female soul was formed out of the same mate- 
rials that enter into the composition of a fox. Such an one is what 
we call a notable discerning woman, who has an insight into every 
thing whether it be good or bad. In this species of females there 
are some virtuous and some \acious. 

"A third kind of women were made up of canine particles. 
These are what we commonly call scolds, who imitate the animals 
out of which they were taken, that are always busy and barking, 
that snarl at every one who comes in their way, and live in perpetual 
clamour. 

" The fourth kind of women were made out of the earth. These 
are your sluggards, who pass away their time in indolence and igno- 
rance, hover over the fire a whole winter, and apply themselves 
with alacrity to no kind of business but eating, 

" The fifth species of females were made out of the sea. These 
are women of variable uneven tempers, sometimes all storm and 
tempests, sometimes all calm and sunshine. The stranger who 
sees one of these in her smiles and smoothness, would cr\' her up 
for a miracle of good -bumo ur ; but on a sudden her looks and words 
are changed, she is nothing but fury and outrage, noise and hurri- 
cane. 

239 



THE SPECTATOR 

"The sixth species were made up of the ingredients which com- 
pose an ass, or a beast of burden. These are naturally exceeding 
slothful, but, upon the husband's exerting his authority, will live 
upon hard fare, and do every thing to please him. They are, how- 
ever, far from being averse to venereal pleasure, and seldom refuse 
a male companion. 

"The cat furnished materials for a seventh species of women, 
who are of a melancholy, froward, unamiable nature, and so repug- 
nant to the offers of love, that they fly in the face of their husband 
when he approaches them with conjugal endearments. This 
species of women are likewise subject to little thefts, cheats, and 
pilferings. 

"The mare with a flowing mane, which was never broke to any 
servile toil and labour, composed an eighth species of women. 
These are they who have little regard for their husbands ; who pass 
away their time in dressing, bathing, and perfuming; who throw 
their hair into the nicest curls, and trick it up with the fairest flowers 
and garlands. A woman of this species is a very pretty thing for 
a stranger to look upon, but very detrimental to the owner, unless 
it be a king or a prince who takes a fancy to such a toy. 

" The ninth species of females were taken out of the ape. These 
are such as are both ugly and ill-natured, who have nothing beauti- 
ful in themselves, and endeavour to detract from or ridicule every 
thing which appears so in others. 

" The tenth and last species of women were made out of the bee ; 
and happy is the man who gets such an one for his wife. She is 
altogether faultless and unblameable. Her family flourishes and 
improves by her good management. She loves her husband, and 
is beloved by him. She brings him a race of beautiful and virtuous 
children. She distinguishes herself among her sex. She is sur- 
roimded with graces. She never sits among the loose tribe of 
women, nor passes away her time with them in wanton discourses. 
She is full of virtue and prudence, and is the best wife that Jupiter 
can bestow on man." 

I shall conclude these iambics with the motto of this paper, 
which is a fragment of the same author: "A man cannot possess 
any thing that is better than a good woman, nor any thing that is 
worse than a bad one." 

As the poet has shown great penetration in this diversity of female 
characters, he has avoided the fault which Juvenal and Monsieur 
240 



THE SPECTATOR 

Boileau are guilty of, the former in his sixth, and the other in his 
last satire, where they have endeavoured to expose the sex in gen- 
eral, without doing justice to the valuable part of it. Such level- 
ling satires are of no use to the world ; and for this reason I have 
often wondered how the French author, above-mentioned, who 
was a man of exquisite judgment, and a lover of virtue, could think 
human nature a proper subject for satire in another of his cele- 
brated pieces, which is called The Satire upon Man. What vice 
or frailty can a discourse correct which censures the whole species 
alike, and endeavours to show, by some superficial strokes of wit, 
that brutes are the more excellent creatures of the two ? A satire 
should expose nothing but what is corrigible, and make a due dis- 
crimination between those who are, and those who are not the 
proper object of it. L. 



ON EDUCATION 

No. 215.] TUESDAY, November 6, 171 1. fADDisoN.fj 

— Ingenuas didicisse fideliter artes 
Emollit mores, nee sinit esse feros. — Ovid. 

I CONSIDER an human soul without education, like marble 
in the quarry, which shows none of its inherent beauties, till 
the skill of the polisher fetches out the colours, makes the surface 
shine, and discovers every ornamental cloud, spot, and vein, that 
runs through the body of it. Education, after the same manner, 
when it works upon a noble mind, draws out to view every latent vir- 
tue and perfection, which without such helps are never able to make 
their appearance. 

If my reader will give me leave to change the allusion so soon 
upon him, I shall make use of the same instance to illustrate the 
force of education, which Aristotle has brought to explain his doc- 
trine of substantial forms, when he tells us that a statue lies hid in a 
block of marble; and that the art of the statuary only clears away 
the superfluous matter, and removes the rubbish. The figure is in 
the stone, the sculptor only finds it. What sculpture is to a block of 
marble, education is to an human soul. The philosopher, the saint, 
or the hero, the wise, the good, or the great man, very often lie hid 
241 



THE SPECTATOR 

and concealed in a plebeian, which a proper education might have 
disinterred, and have brought to Ught. I am, therefore, much de- 
lighted with reading the accounts of savage nations, and with con- 
templating those xirtues which are wild and uncultivated; to see 
courage exerting itself in fierceness, resolution in obstinacy, wisdom 
in cunning, patience in sullenness and despair. 

Men's passions operate variously, and appear in different kinds 
of actions, according as they are more or less rectified and swayed by 
reason. WTien one hears of negroes, who, upon the death of their 
masters, or upon changing their service, hang themselves upon the 
next tree, as it frequently happens in our American plantations, who 
can forbear admiring their fidelity, though it expresses itself in so 
dreadful a manner ? \Miat might not that savage greatness of soul, 
which appears in these poor wretches, on many occasions, be raised 
to, were it rightly cultivated ? And what colour of excuse can there 
be for the contempt with which we treat this part of our species, 
that we should not put them upon the common foot of humanity, 
that we should only set an insignificant fine upon the man who 
murders them; nay, that we should, as much as in us lies, cut them 
off from the prospect of happiness in another world, as weU as in 
this, and deny them that which we look upon as the proper means 
for attaining it ? 

Since I am engaged on this subject, I cannot forbear mentioning 
a story which I have lately heard, and which is so well attested, that 
I have no manner of reason to suspect the truth of it : I may call it 
a kind of wild tragedy that passed about twelve years ago at St. 
Christopher's, one of oiir British Leeward Islands. The negroes 
who were concerned in it were all of them the slaves of a gentleman 
who is now in England. 

This gentleman, among his negroes, had a young woman, who 
was looked upon as a most extraordinary beauty by those of her o'vvti 
complexion. He had at the same time two young fellows, who 
were Hkewise negroes and slaves, remarkable for the comeliness of 
their persons, and for the friendship which they bore to one another. 
It unfortunately happened that both of them fell in love with the 
female negro above-mentioned, who would have been very glad to 
have taken either of them for her husband, provided they could 
agree between themselves which should be the man. But they 
were both so passionately in love with her, that neither of them 
could think of giving her up to his rival; and at the same time were 
242 



THE SPECTATOR 

so true to one another, that neither of them would think of gaining 
her without his friend's consent. The torments of these two lovers 
were the discourse of the family to which they belonged, who could 
not forbear observing the strange compUcation of passions which 
perplexed the hearts of the poor negroes, that often dropped expres- 
sions of the imeasiness they unden^'ent, and how impossible it was 
for either of them ever to be happy. 

After a long struggle between love and friendship, truth and 
jealousy, they one day took a walk together into a wood, carrying 
their mistress along with them; where, after abundance of lamenta- 
tions, they stabbed her to the heart, of which she immediately died. 
A slave, who was at his work not far from the place where this aston- 
ishing piece of cruelty was committed, hearing the shrieks of the 
d}dng person, ran to see what was the occasion of them. He there 
discovered the woman hing dead upon the ground, with the two 
negroes on each side of her kissing the dead corpse, weeping over it, 
and beating their breasts in the utmost agonies of grief and despair. 
He immediately ran to the English family with the news of what he 
had seen; who, upon coming to the place, saw the woman dead, and 
the two negroes expiring by her with wounds they had given them- 
selves. 

We see in this amazing instance of barbarity, what strange dis- 
orders are bred in the minds of those men whose passions are not 
regulated by \irtue, and disciplined by reason. Though the action 
which I have recited is in itself full of guilt and horror, it proceeded 
from a temper of mind which might have produced very noble fruits, 
had it been formed and guided by a suitable education. 

It is, therefore, an unspeakable blessing to be bom in those parts 
of the world where wisdom and knowledge flourish; though it must 
be confessed, there are, even in these parts, several poor uninstructed 
persons, who are but little above the inhabitants of those nations of 
which I have been here speaking; as those who have had the ad- 
vantages of a more liberal education, rise above one another by sev- 
eral different degrees of perfection. For, to return to our statue in 
the block of marble, we see it sometimes only begtm to be chipped, 
sometimes rough-he-wn, and but just sketched into an human figure; 
sometimes we see the man appearing distinctly in all his limbs and 
features, sometimes we find the figure wrought up to a great ele- 
gancy, but seldom meet with any to which the hand of a Phidias or 
a Praxiteles could not give several nice touches and finishings. 

243 



THE SPECTATOR 

Discourses of morality, and reflections upon human nature, are 
the best means we can make use of to improve our minds, and 
gain a true knowledge of ourselves, and consequently to recover 
our souls out of the -vice, ignorance, and prejudice, which naturally 
cleave to them. I have all along professed myself in this paper a 
promoter of these great ends; and I flatter myself that I do from 
day to day contribute something to the pohshing of men's minds; 
at least my design is laudable, whatever the execution may be. I 
must confess I am not a httle encouraged in it by many letters which 
I receive from unkno^-n hands, in approbation of my endeavours; 
and must take this opportunity of retiuning my thanks to those 
who write them, and excusing myself for not inserting several of 
them in my papers, which I am sensible would be a very great 
ornament to them. Should I pubHsh the praises which are so 
well penned, they would do honoiir to the persons who write them; 
but my pubhshing of them would, I fear, be a sufficient instance to 
the world, that I did not deserve them. 



THE CRIES OF LONDON 

No. 251.] TUESDAY, December 18, 1711. [.\ddison.] 

— Linguae centum sunt, oraque centum, 

Ferrea vox. ViRG. JEs. vi. 625. 

A hundred mouths, a hundred tongues, 
And throats of brass inspir'd with iron lungs. 

THERE is nothing which more astonishes a fcfl-eigner, and 
frights a country squire, than the Cries of London. My 
good friend Sir Roger often declares that he cannot get them out 
of his head, or go to sleep for them, the first week that he is in 
town. On the contrary, Will Honeycomb calls them the Ramage 
de la Ville, and prefers them to the sounds of larks and nightin- 
gales, with all the music of the fields and woods. I have lately 
received a letter from some ven,' odd fellow upon this subject, 
which I shall leave with my reader, v.-ithout saying any thing 
farther of it. 

244 



THE SPECTATOR 

" Sir, — I am a man out of all business, and would willingly turn 
my hand to any thing for an honest hveUhood. I have invented 
several projects for raising many millions of money without burden- 
ing the subject, but I cannot get the parliament to listen to me, who 
look upon me, forsooth, as a crack and a projector; so that, despair- 
ing to enrich either myself or my country by this pubUc-spiritedness, 
I would make some proposals to you relating to a design which I 
have very much at heart, and which may procure me a handsome 
subsistence, if you will be pleased to recommend it to the cities of 
London and Westminster. 

"The post I would aim at, is to be Comptroller-General of the 
London Cries, which are at present under no manner of rules and 
discipUne. I think I am pretty well quahfied for this place, as being 
a man of very strong lungs, of great insight into all the branches of 
our British trades and manufactures, and of a competent skill in 
music. 

"The Cries of London may be divided into vocal and instru- 
mental. As for the latter, they are at present imder a very great 
disorder. A freeman of London has the pri\dlege of disturbing a 
whole street for an hour together, with the twanking of a brass 
kettle or frying-pan. The watchman's thump at midnight startles 
us in our beds, as much as the breaking in of a thief. The sow- 
gelder's horn has indeed something musical in it, but this is seldom 
heard within the Uberties. I would therefore propose, that no 
instrument of this nature should be made use of, wliich I have not 
tuned and Ucensed, after ha\'ing carefully examined in what manner 
it may affect the ears of her ISIajesty's Uege subjects. 

"Vocal cries are of a much larger extent, and indeed so full of 
incongruities and barbarisms, that we appear a distracted city to 
foreigners, who do not comprehend the meaning of such enormous 
outcries. Milk is generally sold in a note above E-la, and in sounds 
so exceeding shrill, that it often sets our teeth on edge. The 
chimney-sweeper is confined to no certain pitch; he sometimes 
utters himself in the deepest base, and sometimes in the sharpest 
treble; sometimes in the highest, and sometimes in the lowest note 
of the gamut. The same observation might be made on the retailers 
of small-coal, not to mention broken glasses or brick-dust. In 
these, therefore, and the like cases, it should be my care to sweeten 
and mellow the voices of these itinerant tradesmen, before they 
make their appearance in our streets, as also to accommodate their 

245 



THE SPECTATOR 

cries to their respective wares: and to take care in particular, that 
those may not make the most noise who have the least to sell, 
which is very observable in the vendors of card-matches, to whom 
I cannot but apply the old proverb of ' Much cry but Uttle wool.' 

" Some of these last-mentioned musicians are so very loud in the 
sale of these trifling manufactures, that an honest splenetic gentle- 
man of my acquaintance bargained vsath one of them never to come 
into the street where he Uved. But what was the effect of this 
contract? \Miy, the whole tribe of card match-makers, which 
frequent that quarter, passed by his door the very next day, in hopes 
of being bought off after the same manner. 

"It is another great imperfection in our London Cries, that 
there is no just time nor measure observed in them. Our news 
should indeed be pubhshed in a very quick time, because it is a 
commodity that wiU not keep cold. It should not, however, be 
cried with the same precipitation as fire. Yet this is generally the 
case. A bloody battle alarms the to\ATi from one end to another in 
an instant. Every motion of the French is pubhshed in so great a 
hurry, that one would think the enemy were at our gates. This 
likewise I would take upon me to regulate in such a manner, that 
there should be some distinction made between the spreading of a 
victory, a march, or an encampment, a Dutch, a Portugal, or a 
Spanish mail. Nor must I omit under this head those excessive 
alarms with which several boisterous rustics infest our streets in 
turnip-season; and which are more inexcusable, because these are 
wares which are in no danger of coohng upon their hands. 

"There are others who affect a very slow time, and are in my 
opinion much more tuneable than the former. The cooper in 
particular swells his last note in an hollow voice, that is not without 
its harmony; nor can I forbear being inspired with a most agreeable 
melancholy, when I hear that sad and solemn air with which the 
pubUc are very often asked, if they have any chairs to mend ? Your 
o\\Ti memory may suggest to you many other lamentable ditties of 
the same nature, in which the music is wonderfully languishing 
and melodious. 

" I am always pleased with that particular time of the year which 
is proper for the pickhng of dill and cucumbers; but, alas! this 
cry, hke the song of the nightingale, is not heard above two months. 
It would therefore be worth while to consider, whether the same air 
might not in some cases be adapted to other words. 
246 



THE SPECTATOR 

"It might likewise deserve our most serious consideration, how 
far, in a well-regulated city, those humourists are to be tolerated, 
who, not contented with the traditional cries of their forefathers, 
have invented particular songs and tunes of their own ; such as was, 
not many years since, the pastryman, commonly known by the 
name of the Colly-Molly-Puff; and such as is at this day the vendor 
of powder and wash-balls, who, if I am rightly informed, goes under 
the name of Powder- Wat. 

" I must not here omit one particular absurdity which runs through 
this whole vociferous generation, and which renders their cries very 
often not only incommodious, but altogether useless to the public. 
I mean that idle accomplishment, which they all of them aim at, 
of crying so as not to be understood. Whether or not they have 
learned this from several of our affected singers, I will not take upon 
me to say; but most certain it is, that people know the wares they 
deal in rather by their tunes than by their words; insomuch that I 
have sometimes seen a country boy run out to buy apples of a bellows 
mender, and ginger-bread from a grinder of knives and scissors. 
Nay, so strangely infatuated are some very eminent artists of this 
particular grace in a cry, that none but their acquaintance are able 
to guess at their profession ; for who else can know, that ' work if I 
had it,' should be the signification of a corn-cutter. 

" Forasmuch, therefore, as persons of this rank are seldom men 
of genius or capacity, I think it would be proper that some man of 
good sense and profound judgment should preside over these public 
cries, who should permit none to lift up their voices in our streets, 
that have not tuneable throats, and are not only able to overcome 
the noise of the crowd, and the rattling of coaches, but also to vend 
their respective merchandizes in apt phrases, and in the most dis- 
tinct and agreeable sounds. I do therefore humbly recommend 
myself as a person rightly qualified for this post; and, if I meet 
with fitting encouragement, shall communicate some other projects 
which I have by me, that may no less conduce to the emolument of 
the public. 

"I am, Sir, &c. 

C. "Ralph Crotchet." 



247 



THE SPECTATOR 

THE SPECTATOR'S SUCCESS 

No. 262.] MONDAY, December 31, 1711. [Addison.!] 
Nulla venenato Httera mista joco est. — Ovid. 

I THINK myself highly obliged to the public for their kind 
acceptance of a paper which visits them every morning, and 
has in it none of those seasonings that recommend so many of the 
writings which are in vogue among us. 

As, on the one side, my paper has not in it a single word of news, 
a reflection in politics, nor a stroke of party; so, on the other, there 
are no fashionable touches of infidelity, no obscene ideas, no satires 
upon priesthood, marriage, and the like popular topics of ridicule; 
no private scandal, nor anything that may tend to the defamation 
of particular persons, families, or societies. 

There is not one of these above-mentioned subjects that would 
not sell a very indifferent paper, could I think of gratifying the 
public by such mean and base methods; but, notwithstanding I 
have rejected everything that savours of party, everything that 
is loose and immoral, and everything that might create uneasiness 
in the minds of particular persons, I find that the demand of my 
papers has increased every month since their first appearance in 
the world. This does not, perhaps, reflect so much honour upon 
myself, as on my readers, who give a much greater attention to 
discourses of virtue and morality, than ever I expected, or indeed 
could hope. 

When I broke loose from that great body of writers who have 
employed their wit and parts in propagating of vice and irreligion, 
I did not question but I should be treated as an odd kind of fellow 
that had a mind to appear singular in my way of writing: but the 
general reception I have found, convinces me that the world is not 
so corrupt as we are apt to imagine; and that if those men of parts 
who have been employed in vitiating the age had endeavoured to 
rectify and amend it, they needed not have sacrificed their good 
sense and virtue to their fame and reputation. No man is so sunk 
in vice and ignorance, but there are still some hidden seeds of good- 
ness and knowledge in him; which give him a relish of such reflec- 
tions and speculations as have an aptness to improve the mind, 
and to make the heart better. 

248 



THE SPECTATOR 

I have shown in a former paper, with how much care I have 
avoided all such thoughts as are loose, obscene, or immoral; and 
I believe my reader would stiU think the better of me, if he knew 
the pains I am at in qualifying what I write after such a manner, 
that nothing may be interpreted as aimed at private persons. For 
this reason, when I draw any faulty character, I consider all those 
persons to whom the malice of the world may possibly apply it, 
and take care to dash it with such particular circumstances as may 
prevent all such iU-natured applications. If I write anything on 
a black man, I run over in my mind all the eminent persons in the 
nation who are of that complexion: when I place an imaginary 
name at the head of a character, I examine every syllable and letter 
of it, that it may not bear any resemblance to one that is real. I 
know very well the value which every man sets upon his reputation, 
and how painful it is to be exposed to the mirth and derision of the 
public, and should therefore scorn to divert my reader at the expense 
of any private man. 

As I have been thus tender of every particular person's reputa- 
tion, so I have taken more than ordinary care not to give offence 
to those who appear in the higher figmres of life. I would not 
make myself merry even with a piece of pasteboard that is invested 
with a public character; for which reason I have never glanced 
upon the late designed procession of his Holiness and his atten- 
dants, notwithstanding it might have afforded matter to many ludi- 
crous speculations. Among those advantages which the public 
may reap from this paper, it is not the least, that it draws men's 
minds off from the bitterness of party, and furnishes them with 
subjects of discourse that may be treated without warmth or pas- 
sion. This is said to have been the first design of those gentlemen 
who set on foot the Royal Society; and had then a very good effect, 
as it turned many of the greatest geniuses of that age to the dis- 
quisitions of natural knowledge, who, if they had engaged in poli- 
lics with the same parts and application, might have set their 
country in a flame. The air-pump, the barometer, the quadrant, 
and the like inventions, were thrown out to those busy spirits, as 
tubs and barrels are to a whale, that he may let the ship sail on 
without disturbance, while he diverts himself with those innocent 
amusements. 

I have been so very scrupulous in this particular of not hurting 
any man's reputation, that I have forborne mentioning even such 
249 



THE SPECTATOR 

authors as I could not name with honour. This I must confess to 
have been a piece of very great self-denial: for as the pubUc reUshes 
nothing better than the ridicule which turns upon a writer of any 
eminence, so there is nothing which a man that has but a very ordi- 
nary talent in ridicule may execute with greater ease. One might 
raise laughter for a quarter of a year together upon the works of a 
person who has pubUshed but a very few volumes. For which 
reason I am astonished, that those who have appeared against this 
paper have made so very Httle of it. The criticisms which I have 
hitherto published, have been made with an intention rather to dis- 
cover beauties and excellencies in the ^Titers of my own time, than to 
pubUsh any of their faults and imperfections. In the mean while, 
I should take if for a very great favour from some of my underhand 
detractors, it they wovdd break all measures with me so far, as to 
give me a pretence for examining their performances with an im- 
partial eye; nor shall I look upon it as a breach of charity to criti- 
cise the author, so long as I keep clear of the person. 

In the meanwhile, till lam provoked to such hostiUties, I shall from 
time to time endeavour to do justice to those who have distingmshed 
themselves in the pohter parts of learning, and to point out such 
beauties in their works as may have escaped the observation of others. 

As the first place among our Enghsh poets is due to Milton, and 
as I have drawn more quotations out of him than from any other, I 
shall enter into a regular criticism upon his Paradise Lost, which I 
shall pubhsh every Saturday, till I have given my thoughts upon 
that poem. I shall not, however, presume to impose upon others my 
own particular judgment on this author, but only dehver it as my 
private opinion. Criticism is of a large extent, and every particu- 
lar master in this art has his favourite passages in an author, which 
do not equally strike the best judges. It will be sufficient for me 
if I discover many beauties or imperfections which others have not 
attended to, and I should be very glad to see any of our eminent 
writers pubhsh their discoveries on the same subject. In short, I 
would always be understood to -^Tite my papers of criticism in the 
spirit which Horace has expressed in those famous lines; 

— Si quid novisti rectius istis, 
Candidiis imperti; si non, his utere mecum. 

If you have made any better remarks of your own, communicate 
them with candour ; if not, make use of these I present you with. 
250 



THE SPECTATOR 



PIN-MONEY 

No. 295.] THURSDAY, February 7, 1711-12. [Addison.] 

Prodiga non sentit pereuntem foemina censmn: 

At velut exhausta redivivus pullulet area 

Nummus, et e pleno semper tollatur acervo, 

Non unquam reputat quanti sibi gaudia constant. — JxTV. 

" IVr^" SPECTATOR, — I am turned of my great climacteric, 
i- ▼ A and am naturally a man of a meek temper. About a dozen 
years ago I was married, for my sins, to a young woman of a good 
family, and of an high spirit; but could not bring her to close with 
me, before I had entered into a treaty with her longer than that of 
the grand alhance. Among other articles, it was therein stipulated 
that she should have £400 a year for pin money, which I obliged 
myself to pay quarterly into the hands of one who acted as her pleni- 
potentiary in that affair. I have ever since rehgiously observed my 
part in this solemn agreement. Now, sir, so it is, that the lady has 
had several children since I married her; to which, if I should credit 
our maUcious neighbours, her pin-money has not a little contributed. 
The education of these my children, who, contrary to my expecta- 
tion, are bom to me every year, straitens me so much, that I have 
begged their mother to free me from the obligation of the above- 
mentioned pin-money, that it may go towards making a provision 
for her family. This proposal makes her noble blood swell in her 
veins, insomuch that finding me a little tardy in her last quarter's 
payment, she threatens me every day to arrest me; and proceeds so 
far as to tell me, that if I do not do her justice, I shall die in a jail. To 
this she adds, when her passion will let her argue calmly, that she 
has several play-debts on her hand, which must be discharged very 
suddenly, and that she cannot lose her money as becomes a woman 
of her fashion, if she makes me any abatements in this article. I 
hope, sir, you will take an occasion from hence to give your opinion 
upon a subject which you have not yet touched, and inform us if 
there are any precedents for this usage among our ancestors; or 
whether you find any mention of pin-money in Grotius, Puffendorf, 
or any other of the civilians. 

" I am ever the humblest of your admirers, 
JosiAH Fribble, Esq." 

251 



THE SPECTATOR 

As there is no man living who is a more professed advocate for 
the fair sex than myself, so there is none that would be more unwil- 
ling to invade any of their ancient rights and privileges; but as the 
doctrine of pin-money is of a very late date, unknown to our great- 
grandmothers, and not yet received by many of our modem ladies, I 
think it is for the interest of both sexes to keep it from spreading. 

Mr. Fribble may not, perhaps, be much mistaken where he inti- 
mates, that the supplying a man's wife with pin money, is furnishing 
her with arms against himself, and in a manner becoming accessory 
to his own dishonour. We may, indeed, generally observe, that in 
proportion as a woman is more or less beautiful, and her husband 
advanced in years, she stands in need of a greater or less number 
of pins, and upon a treaty of marriage rises or falls in her demands 
accordingly. It must likewise be owned, that high quality in a 
mistress does very much inflame this article in the marriage reckon- 
ing. 

But where the age and circumstances of both parties are pretty 
much upon a level, I cannot but think the insisting upon pin-money 
is very extraordinary; and yet we find several matches broken off 
upon this very head. What would a foreigner, or one who is a 
stranger to this practice, think of a lover that forsakes his mistress, 
because he is not willing to keep her in pins; but what would he 
think of the mistress, should he be informed that she asks five or 
six hundred pounds a year for this use ? Should a man unacquainted 
with our customs be told the sums which are allowed in Great 
Britain, under the title of pin-money, what a prodigious consumption 
of pins would he think there was in this island ! " A pin a day (says 
our frugal proverb) is a great a year;" so that according to this 
calculation, my friend Fribble's wife must every year make use 
of eight millions six hundred and forty thousand new pins. 

I am not ignorant that our British ladies allege they comprehend 
under this general term several other conveniences of Hfe; I could 
therefore wish, for the honour of my country-women, that they had 
rather called it needle-money, which might have implied something 
of good-housewifery, and not have given the malicious world occa- 
sion to think, that dress and trifle have always the uppermost place 
in a woman's thoughts. 

I know several of my fair readers urge, in defence of this practice, 
that it is but a necessary provision to make for themselves, in case 
their husband proves a churl or a miser; so that they consider this 
252 



THE SPECTATOR 

allowance as a kind of alimony, which they may lay their claim to 
without actually separating from their husbands. But with sub- 
mission, I think a woman who will give up herself to a man in mar- 
riage, where there is the least room for such an apprehension, and 
trust her person to one whom she will not rely on for the common 
necessaries of life, may very properly be accused (in the phrase of 
an homely proverb) of being "penny wise and pound foolish." 

It is observed of over-cautious generals, that they never engage 
in a battle without securing a retreat, in case the event should not 
answer their expectations ; on the other hand, the greatest conquerors 
have burnt their ships, and broke down the bridges behind them, 
as being determined either to succeed or die in the engagement. 
In the same manner I should very much suspect a woman who 
takes such precautions for her retreat, and contrives methods how 
she may live happily, without the affection of one to whom she 
joins herself for life. Separate purses between man and wife, are, 
in my opinion, as unnatural as separate beds. A marriage cannot 
be happy, where the pleasures, inclinations, and interests of both 
parties are not the same. There is no greater incitement to love 
in the mind of man, than the sense of a person's depending upon 
him for her ease and happiness ; as a woman uses all her endeavours 
to please the person whom she looks upon as her honour, her 
comfort, and her support. 

For this reason I am not very much surprised at the behaviour of 
a rough country squire, who, being not a little shocked at the 
proceeding of a young widow that would not recede from her 
demands of pin-money, was so enraged at her mercenary temper, 
that he told her in great wrath, "As much as she thought him her 
slave, he would show all the world he did not care a pin for her." 
Upon which he flew out of the room, and never saw her more. 

Socrates, in Plato's Alcibiades, says, he was informed by one, 
who had travelled through Persia, that as he passed over a tract of 
lands and inquired what the name of the place was, they told him 
it was the queen's girdle; to which he adds, that another wide 
field which lay by it was called the queen's veil, and that in the 
same manner there was a large portion of ground set aside for 
every part of her Majesty's dress. These lands might not be 
improperly called the Queen of Persia's pin-money. 

I remember my friend Sir Roger, who I dare say never read this 
passage in Plato, told me some time since, that upon his courting 

253 



THE SPECTATOR 

the perverse widow, (of whom I have given an account in former 
papers), he had disposed of an hundred acres in a diamond-ring, 
which he would have presented her with, had she thought fit to 
accept it ; and that upon her wedding-day she should have carried 
on her head iSfty of the tallest oaks upon his estate. He further 
informed me that he would have given her a coal-pit to keep her in 
clean linen, that he would have allowed her the profits of a wind- 
mill for her fans, and have presented her, once in three years, with 
the shearing of his sheep for her under-petticoats. To which the 
knight always adds, that though he did not care for fine clothes 
himself, there should not have been a woman in the country better 
dressed than my lady Coverley. Sir Roger, perhaps, may in this, 
as well as in many other of his devices, appear something odd and 
singular, but if the humour of pin-money prevails, I think it would 
be very proper for every gentleman of an estate to mark out so many 
acres of it imder the title of The Pins. 



LETTER FROM SIR JOHN ENVIL 

No. 299.] TUESDAY, February 12, 1711-12. [Addison.] 

Malo Venusinam, quam te, Cornelia, mater 
Gracchorum, si cum magnis virtutibus affers 
Grande supercilium, et numeras in dote triumphos. 
Tolle tuum precor Annibalem victumque Syphacem 
In castris, et cum tota Carthagine migra. — Juv. 

IT is observed, that a man improves more by reading the story 
of a person eminent for prudence and virtue, than by the 
finest rules and precepts of moraUty. In the same manner a 
representation of those calamities and misfortunes which a weak 
man suffers from wrong measures and ill-concerted schemes of 
life, is apt to make a deeper impression upon our minds, than the 
wisest maxims and instructions that can be given us for avoiding 
the like follies and indiscretions in our own private conduct. It is 
for this reason that I lay before my reader the following letter, and 
leave it with him to make his own use of it, without adding any 
reflections of my own upon the subject-matter. 

254 



THE SPECTATOR 

"Mr. Spectator, — Having carefully perused a letter sent 
you by Josiah Fribble, Esq., with your subsequent discourse 
upon pin money, I do presume to trouble you with an account 
of my own case, which I look upon to be no less deplorable 
than that of Squire Fribble. I am a person of no extraction, 
having begun the world with a small parcel of rusty iron, 
and was for some years commonly known by the name of 
Jack Anvil. I have naturally a very happy genius for getting 
money, insomuch that by the age of five and twenty, I had 
scraped together four thousand two hvmdred pounds, five shillings, 
and a few odd pence. I then launched out into considerable busi- 
ness, and became a bold trader both by sea and land, which in a 
few years raised me a very considerable fortune. For these my 
good services I was knighted in the thirty-fifth year of my age, and 
lived with great dignity among my city neighbours by the name of 
Sir John Anvil. Being in my temper very ambitious, I was now bent 
upon making a family, and accordingly resolved that my descendants 
should have a dash of good blood in their veins. In order to this I 
made love to the Lady Mary Oddly, an indigent young woman of 
quahty. To cut short the marriage treaty, I threw her a charte 
blanche, as our newspapers call it, desiring her to write upon it her 
own terms. She was very concise in her demands, insisting only 
that the disposal of my fortune, and the regulation of my family, 
should be entirely in her hands. Her father and brothers appeared 
exceedingly averse to this match, and would not see me for some 
time; but at present are so well reconciled, that they dine with me 
almost every day, and have borrowed considerable sums of me; 
which my Lady Mary very often twits me with, when she would 
show me how kind her relations are to me. She had no portion, as 
I told you before, but what she wanted in fortune she makes up in 
spirit. She at first changed my name to Sir John Envil, and at 
present writes herself Mary Enville. I have had some children by 
her, whom she has christened with the surnames of her family, 
in order, as she tells me, to wear out the homehness of their par- 
entage by the father's side. Our eldest son is the Honourable 
Oddly Enville, Esq., and our eldest daughter, Harriot Enville. 
Upon her first coming into my family, she turned off a parcel of 
very careful servants, who had been long with me, and introduced 
in their stead a couple of Blackamoors, and three or four very genteel 
fellows in laced liveries, besides her French woman, who is perpetu- 



THE SPECTATOR 

ally making a noise in the house in a language which nobody under- 
stands, except my Lady Maiy. She next set herself to reform every 
room of my house, having glazed all my chimney-pieces with looking- 
glass, and planted every comer with such heaps of china, that I am 
obliged to move about my own house with the greatest caution and 
circumspection, for fear of hurting some of our brittle furniture. 
She makes an illumination once a week with wax-candles in one of 
the largest rooms, in order, as she phrases it, to see company. At 
which time she always desires me to be abroad, or to confine myself 
to the cock-loft, that I may not disgrace her amoBg her ^-isitants of 
qxiality. Her footmen, as I told you before, are such beaus, that 
I do not much care for asking them questions; when I do, they 
answer me with a saucy frown, and say that evemhing, which I 
find fault with, was done by my Lady Mary's order. She tells me 
that she intends they shall wear swords with their next li'S'eries, 
having lately observed the footmen of two or three persons of 
quality hanging behind the coach with swords by their sides. As 
soon as the first honey-moon was over, I represented to her the 
unreasonableness cf those daily innovations which she made in my 
family; but she told me I was no longer to consider m}-self as Sir 
John Anvil, but as her husband; and added with a frown, that I 
did not seem to know who she was. I was surprised to be treated 
thus, after such fa m iliarities as had passed between us. But she 
has since given me to know, that whatever freedoms she may 
sometimes indulge me in, she expects in general to be treated with 
the respect that is due to her birth and qualit}-. Our children have 
been trained up from their infancy with so many accoimts of their 
mothers family, that they know the stories of aU the great men and 
women it had produced. Their mother tells them, that such an 
one commanded in such a sea engagement, that their great-grand- 
father had a horse shot under him at Edgehill, that their imcle was 
at the siege of Buda. and that her mother danced in a ball at court 
with the Duke of Monmouth : with abimdance of fiddle-faddle of the 
same na,ture. I was, the other day, a little out of coimtenance at a 
question of my little daughter Harriot, who asked me, with a great 
deal of innocence, why I never told them of the generals and 
admirals that had been in my family. As for my eldest son Oddly, 
he has been so spirited up by his mother, that if he does not mend 
his manners I shall go near to disinherit him. He drew his sword 
upon me before he was nine years old, and told me, that he expected 
2-^6 



THE SPECTATOR 

to be used like a gentleman; upon my offering to correct him for 
his insolence, my Lady Man' stept in betv\-een us, and told me. 
that I ought to consider there was some difference between his 
mother and mine. She is perpetually finding out the features of her 
own relations in every one of my children, though, by the way, I 
have a Uttle chub-faced boy as like me as he can stare, if I durst 
say so; but what most angers me, when she sees me placing with 
any of them upon my knee, she has begged me more than once to 
converse with the children as httle as possible, that they may not 
learn any of my awkward tricks. 

"You must further know, since I am opening my heart to you, 
that she thinks herself my superior in sense, as much as she is in 
quality, and therefore treats me like a plain well-meaning man, 
who does not know the world. She dictates to me m my owti 
business, sets me right in a point of trade, and if I disagree with her 
about any of my ships at sea, wonders that I will dispute with her, 
when I know ven,' well that her great-grandfather was a flag officer. 

" To complete my sufferings, she has teased me for this quarter of 
a year last past, to remove into one of the Squares at the other end 
of the town, promising, for my encouragement, that I shall have as 
good a cock-loft as any gentleman in the Square: to which the 
Honourable Oddly En\"ille, Esq. always adds, like a jack-a-rapes 
as he is, that he hopes it will be as near the covul as possible. 

''In short, Mr. Spectator, I am so much out of my natural 

element, that to recover my old way of life I would be content to 

begin the world again, and be plain Jack AnWl ; but alas ! I am in for 

life, and am bound to subscribe myself, with great sorrow of heart, 

" Your humble servant. 

John En-ville, Knt." 



257 



THE SPECTATOR 

ON WASTE OF TIME 

No. 317.] TUESDAY, March 4, 1711-12. [Addison.] 

— Fruges consumere nati. 

HoR. I Ep. ii. 27. 

— Born to drink and eat. 

AUGUSTUS, a few moments before his death, asked his friends 
who stood about him, if they thought he had acted his part 
well; and upon receiving such an answer as was due to his extra- 
ordinary merit, " Let me then," says he, "go off the stage with your 
applause"; using the expression with which the Roman actors 
made their exit at the conclusion of a dramatic piece. I could 
wish that men, while they are in health, would consider well the 
nature of the part they are engaged in, and what figure it will make 
in the minds of those they leave behind them: whether it was worth 
coming into the world for: whether it be suitable to a reasonable 
being; in short, whether it appears graceful in this life, or will 
turn to an advantage in the next. Let the sycophant or buffoon, 
the satirist or the good companion, consider with himself, when 
his body shall be laid in the grave and his soul pass into another 
state of existence, how much it would redound to his praise to have 
it said of him, that no man in England ate better, that he had an 
admirable talent at turning his friend into ridicule, that nobody 
outdid him at an ill-natured jest, or that he never went to bed before 
he had dispatched his tliird bottle. These are, however, very 
common funeral orations, and eulogiums on deceased persons who 
have acted among mankind with some figure and reputation. 

But if we look into the bulk of our species, they are such as are 
not likely to be remembered a moment after their disappearance. 
They leave behind them no traces of their existence, but are for- 
gotten as though they had never been. They are neither wanted 
by the poor, regretted by the rich, nor celebrated by the learned. 
They are neither missed in the commonwealth, nor lamented by 
private persons. Their actions are of no significancy to mankind, 
and might have been performed by creatures of much less dignity 
than those who are distinguished by the faculty of reason. An 

258 



THE SPECTATOR 

eminent French author speaks somewhere to the following pur- 
pose: I have often seen from my chamber window two noble crea- 
tures, both of them of an erect countenance and endowed with 
reason. These two intellectual beings are employed from morn- 
ing to night, in rubbing two smooth stones one upon another; 
that is, as the vulgar phrase it, in poUshing marble. 

My friend, Sir Andrew Freeport, as we were sitting in the club 
last night, gave us an account of a sober citizen who died a few 
days since. This honest man, being of greater consequence in 
his own thoughts than in the eye of the world, had for some years 
past kept a journal of his Ufe. Sir Andrew showed us one week 
of it. Since the occurrences set dov^m in it mark out such a road 
of action as that I have been speaking of, I shall present my reader 
with a faithful copy of it; after having first informed him, that the 
deceased person had in his youth been bred to trade, but finding 
himself not so well turned for business, he had for several years 
last past lived altogether upon a moderate annuity. 

Monday, eight o'clock. I put on my clothes, and walked into 
the parlour. 

Nine o'clock ditto. Tied my knee-strings, and washed my 
hands. 

Hours, ten, eleven, and twelve. Smoked three pipes of Vir- 
ginia. Read the Supplement and Daily Courant. Things go 
ill in the north. Mr. Nisby's opinion thereupon. 

One o'clock in the afternoon. Chid Ralph for mislaying mv 
tobacco-box. 

Two o'clock. Sat down to dinner. Mem. Too many plums 
and no suet. 

From three to four took my afternoon's nap. 

From four to six. Walked into the fields. Wind S.S.E. 

From six to ten. At the club. Mr. Nisby's opinion about 
the peace. 

Ten o'clock. Went to bed, slept sound. 

Tuesday, being holiday, eight o'clock. Rose as usual. 
Nine o'clock. Washed hands and face, shaved, put on my 
double-soaled shoes. 

Ten, eleven, twelve. Took a walk to Islington. 
One. Took a pot of Mother Cob's mild. 

259 



THE SPECTATOR 

Between two and three. Returned, dined on a knuckle of veal 
and bacon. Mem. Sprouts wanting. 

Three. Nap as usual. 

From four to six. Coffee-house. Read the news. A dish of 
twist. Grand visier strangled. 

From six to ten. At the club. Mr. Nisby's account of the 
Great Turk. 

Ten. Dream of the grand visier. Broken sleep. 

Wednesd.^y, eight o'clock. Tongue of my shoe-buckle broke. 
Hands but not face. 

Nine. Paid off the butcher's bill. Mem. To be allowed for 
the last leg of mutton. 

Ten, eleven. At the coffee-house. More work in the north. 
Stranger in a black wig asked me how stocks went. 

From twelve to one. Walked in the fields. Wind to the south. 

From one to two. Smoked a pipe and a half. 

Two. Dined as usual. Stomach good. 

Three. Nap broke by the falling of a pewter dish. Mem. 
Cook-maid in love, and grown careless. 

From four to six. At the coffee-house. Advice from Smyrna 
that the grand visier was first of all strangled, and afterwards 
beheaded. 

Six o'clock in the evening. Was half an hour in the club before 
anybody else came. Mr. Nisby of opinion that the grand visier 
was not strangled the sixth instant. 

Ten at night. Went to bed. Slept without waking till nine the 
next morning. 

Thursday, nine o'clock. Staid within till two o'clock for Sir Tim- 
othy; who did not bring me my annuity according to his promise. 

Two in the afternoon. Sat down to dinner. Loss of appetite. 
Small -beer sour. Beef overcorned. 

Three. Could not take my nap. 

Four and five. Gave Ralph a box on the ear. Turned off my 
cook-maid. Sent a messenger to Sir Timothy. Mem. I did not 
go to the club to-night. Went to bed at nine o'clock. 

Friday. Passed the morning in meditation upon Sir Timothy, 
who was with me a quarter before twelve. 
260 



THE SPECTATOR 

Twelve o'clock. Bought a new head to my cane, and a tongue 
to my buckle. Drank a glass of purl to recover appetite. 

Two and three. Dined and slept well. 

From four to six. Went to the coflfee-house. Met Mr. Nisby 
there. Smoked several pipes. Mr. Nisby of opinion that laced 
coffee is bad for the head. 

Six o'clock. At the club as steward. Sat late. 

Twelve o'clock. Went to bed, dreamt that I drank small-beer 
with the grand visier. 

Saturday. Waked at eleven, walked in the fields, wind N.E. 

Twelve. Caught in a shower. 

One in the afternoon. Returned home and dried myself. 

Two. Mr. Nisby dined with me. First course, marrow-bones; 
second, ox-cheek, with a bottle of Brooks and Hellier. 

Three. Overslept myself. 

Six. Went to the club. Like to have fallen into a gutter. 
Grand visier certainly dead, &c. 

I question not but the reader will be surprised to find the above- 
mentioned journalist taking so much care of a life that was filled 
with such inconsiderable actions, and received so very small improve- 
ments, and yet if we look into the behaviour of many whom we 
daily converse with, we shall find that most of their hours are taken 
up in those three important articles of eating, drinking, and sleeping. 
I do not suppose that a man loses his time, who is not engaged in 
public affairs or in an illustrious course of action. On the contrary, 
I believe our hours may very often be more profitably laid out in 
such transactions as make no figure in the world, than in such as 
are apt to draw upon them the attention of mankind. One may be- 
come wiser and better by several methods of employing one's self in 
secrecy and silence, and do what is laudable without noise or ostenta- 
tion. I would, however, recommend to every one of my readers, 
the keeping a journal of their lives for one week, and setting down 
punctually their whole series of employments durmg that space of 
time. This kind of self-examination, would give them a true state 
of themselves, and incline them to consider seriously what they are 
about. One would rectify the omissions of another, and make a 
man weigh all those indifferent actions, which, though they are 
easily forgotten, must certainly be accounted for. L. 

261 



THE SPECTATOR 

A YOUNG LADY'S JOURNAL OF A WEEK 

No. 323.] TUESDAY, March ii, 1711-12. [Addison.] 

— Modo vir, modo fccmina. — ^Virg. 

THE journal with which I presented my reader on Tuesday 
last, has brought me in several letters, with accounts of 
many private lives cast into that form. I have the Rake's Jour- 
nal, the Sot's Journal, the Whoremaster's Journal, and among 
several others a very curious piece, entitled, "The Journal of a 
Mohock." By these instances I find that the intention of my 
last Tuesday's paper has been mistaken by many of my readers. 
I did not design so much to expose vice as idleness, and aimed at 
those persons who pass away their time rather in trifles and imper- 
tinence, than in crimes and immoralities. Offences of this latter 
kind are not to be daUied with, or treated in so ludicrous a manner. 
In short, my journal only holds up folly to the Hght, and shows the 
disagreeableness of such actions as are indifferent in themselves, 
and blameable only as they proceed from creatures endowed with 
reason. 

My following correspondent, who calls herself Clarinda, is such 
a journalist as I require: she seems by her letter to be placed in a 
modish state of indifference between vice and virtue, and to be sus- 
ceptible of either, were there proper pains taken with her. Had 
her journal been filled with gallantries, or such occurrences as had 
shown her whoUy divested of her natural innocence, notwithstand- 
ing it might have been more pleasing to the generality of readers, 
I should not have published it ; but as it is only the picture of a life 
filled with a fashionable kind of gaiety and laziness, I shall set 
down five days of it, as I have received it from the hand of my 
correspondent. 

" Dear Mr. Spectator, — You having set your readers an 
exercise in one of your last week's papers, I have performed mine 
according to your orders, and herewith send it you enclosed. You 
must know, Mr. Spectator, that I am a maiden lady of a good 
fortune, who have had several matches offered me for these ten 
years last past, and have at present warm applications made to 
me by a very pretty fellow. As I am at my own disposal, I come 
up to town every winter, and pass my lime in it after the manner 
262 



THE SPECTATOR 

you will find in the following journal, which I began to write upon 
the very day after your Spectator upon that subject. 

Tuesday night. Could not go to sleep till one in the morning 
for thinking of my joiimal. 

Wednesday. From eight to ten. Drank two dishes of choco- 
late in bed, and fell asleep after them. 

From ten to eleven. Eat a slice of bread and butter, drank a dish 
of bohea, read the Spectator. 

From eleven to one. At my toilette, tried a new head. Gave 
orders for Veny to be combed and washed. Mem. I look best in 
blue. 

From one till half an hour after two. Drove to the 'Change. 
Cheapened a couple of fans. 

Till four. At dinner. Mem. Mr. Froth passed by in his new 
liveries. 

From four to six. Dressed, paid a visit to old Lady Blithe and 
her sister, having before heard they were gone out of town that 
day. 

From six to eleven. At Basset. Mem. Never set again upon 
the ace of diamonds. 

Thursday. From eleven at night to eight in the morning. 
Dreamed that I punted to Mr. Froth. 

From eight to ten. Chocolate. Read two acts in Aurenzebe 
a-bed. 

From ten to eleven. Tea-table. Sent to borrow Lady Faddle's 
Cupid for Veny. Read the play-bills. Received a letter from 
Mr. Froth. Mem. Locked it up in my strong box. 

Rest of the morning. Fontange, the tire-woman, her account of 
Lady Blithe 's wash. Broke a tooth in my little tortoise-shell 
comb. Sent Frank to know how my Lady Hectick rested after 
her monkey's leaping out at the window. Looked pale. Fontagne 
tells me my glass is not true. Dressed by three. 

From three to four. Dinner cold before I sat down. 

From four to eleven. Saw company. Mr. Froth's opinion of 
Milton. His accounts of the Mohocks. His fancy for a pin-cushion. 
Picture in the lid of his snaff-box. Old Lady Faddle promises me 
her woman to cut my hair. Lost five guineas at crimp. 

Twelve o'clock at night. Went to bed. 
263 



THE SPECTATOR 

Friday. Eight in the momiBg. A-bed. Read over all Mr. 
Froth's letters. Cupid and Veny. 

Ten o'clock. Stayed within all day, not at home. 

From ten to twelve. In conference with my mantua-maker. 
Sorted a suit of ribands. Broke my blue china cup. 

From twelve to one. Shut myself up in my chamber, practised 
Lady Betty Modely's skuttle. 

One in the afternoon. Called for my flowered handkerchief. 
Worked half a \iolet leaf in it. Eyes ached and head out of order. 
Threw by my work, and read over the remaining part of Aurenzebe. 

From three to four. Dined. 

From four to twelve. Changed my mind, dressed, went abroad, 
and played at crimp till midnight. Found Mrs. Spitely at home. 
Conversation: Mrs. Brillant's necklace false stones. Old Lady 
Loveday going to be married to .a young fellow that is not worth a 
groat. Miss Prue gone into the coimtry. Tom Townley has red 
hair. Mem. ]SIrs. Spitely whispered in my ear that she had some- 
thing to tell me about Mr. Froth, I am sure it is not true. 

Between twelve and one. Dreamed that Mr. Froth lay at my 
feet, and called me Lidamora. 

Saturday. Rose at eight o'clock in the morning. Sat down to 
my toilette. 

From eight to nine. Shifted a patch for half an hour before I 
could determine it. Fixed it above my left eyebrow. 

From nine to twelve. Drank my tea, and dressed. 

From twelve to two. At chapel. A great deal of good company. 
Mem. The third air in the new opera. Lady Blithe dressed fright- 
fidly. 

From three to four. Dined. Mrs. Kitty called upon me to go to 
the opera before I was risen from table. 

From dinner to six. Drank tea. Turned off a footman for being 
rude to Veny. 

Six o'clock. Went to the opera. I did not see Mr. Froth till the 
beginning of the second act. ]Mr. Froth talked to a gentleman in a 
black wig. Bowed to a lady in the front box. Mr. Froth and his 
friend clapped Nicolini in the third act. Mr. Froth cried out An- 
cora. Mr. Froth led me to my chair. I think he squeezed my hand. 

Eleven at night. Went to bed. Melancholy dreams. Me- 
thought Nicolini said he was Mr. Froth. 
264 



THE SPECTATOR 

Sunday. Indisposed. 

Monday. Eight o'clock. Waked by Miss Kitty. Aurenzebe 
lay upon the chair by me. Kitty repeated without book the eight 
best lines in the play. Went in our mobs to the dumb man, accord- 
ing to appointment. Told me that my lover's name began with a 
G. Mem. The conjurer was within a letter of Mr. Froth's name, 
&c 

" Upon looking back into this my journal, I find that I am at a 
loss to know whether I pass my time well or ill; and indeed never 
thought of considering how I did it, before I perused your specula- 
tion upon that subject. I scarce find a single action in these five 
days that I can thoroughly approve of, except the working upon the 
\iolet leaf, which I am resolved to finish the first day I am at leisure. 
As for j\Ir. Froth and Veny, I did not think they took up so much 
of my time and thoughts, as I find they do upon my journal. The 
latter of whom I will turn oflf if you insist upon it; and if Mr. Froth 
does not bring matters to a conclusion very suddenly, I will not let 
my life run away in a dream. 

"Your humble servant, 

Clarinda." 

To resume one of the morals of my first paper, and to confirm 
Clarinda in her good inclinations, I would have her consider what 
a pretty figure she would make among posterity, were the history of 
her whole life published like these five days of it. I shall conclude 
my paper with an epitaph written by an uncertain author on Sir 
Philip Sidney's sister, a lady who seems to have been of a temper 
very much different from that of Clarinda. The last thought of it 
is so very noble, that I dare say my reader will pardon the quotation. 

On the Countess Dowager of Pembroke. 

Underneath this marble hearse 
Lies the subject of all verse, 
Sidney's sister, Pembroke's mother; 
Death, ere thou hast killed another, 
Fair, and learned, and good as she, 
Time shall throw a dart at thee. 



265 



THE SPECTATOR 

VARIOUS ADVANTAGES OF THE 
SPECTATORS 

No. 367.] THURSDAY May i, 1712. [Addison.| 
— Periturae parcite chartae. — Jxjv. 

I HAVE often pleased myself with considering the two kinds of 
benefits which accrue to the public from these my Speculations, 
and which, were I to speak after the manner of logicians, I would 
distinguish into the material and the formal. By the latter I under- 
stand those advantages which my readers receive, as their minds 
are either improved or delighted by these my daily labours: but 
having already several times descanted on my endeavours in this 
light, I shall at present wholly confine myself to the consideration of 
the former. By the word material I mean those benefits which 
arise to the public from these my Speculations, as they consume a 
considerable quantity of our paper manufacture, employ our arti- 
sans in printing, and find business for great numbers of indigent 
persons. 

Our paper-manufactm-e takes into it several mean materials 
which could be put to no other use, and affords work for several 
hands in the collecting of them, which are incapable of any other 
employment. Those poor retailers, whom we see so busy in every 
street, deliver in their respective gleanings to the merchant. The 
merchant carries them in loads to the paper-mill, where they pass 
through a fresh set of hands, and give life to another trade. Those 
who have mills on their estates by this means considerably raise 
their rents, and the whole nation is in a great measure supplied 
with a manufacture, for which formerly she was obliged to her 
neighbours. 

The materials are no sooner wrought into paper, but they are 
distributed among the presses, where they again set innumerable 
artists at work, and furnish business to another mystery. From 
hence, accordingly as they are stained with news or politics, they 
fly through the town in Post-men, Post-boys, Daily Courants, 
Reviews, Medleys, and Examiners. Men, women, and children 
contend who shall be the first bearers of them, and get their daily 
sustenance by spreading them. In short, when I trace in my 
mind a bundle of rags to a quire of Spectators, I find so many 
266 



THE SPECTATOR 

hands employed in every step they take through their whole progress, 
that while I am writing a Spectator, I fancy myself providing bread 
for a multitude. 

If I do not take care to obviate some of my witty readers, they 
will be apt to tell me, that my paper, after it is thus printed and 
pubHshed, is still beneficial to the pubHc on several occasions. I 
must confess I have lighted my pipe with my own works for this 
twelvemonth past: my landlady often sends up her Httle daughter 
to desire some of my old Spectators, and has frequently told me, 
that the paper they are printed on is the best in the world to wrap 
spice in. They likewise make a good foundation for a mutton- 
pie, as I have more than once experienced, and were very much 
sought for last Christmas by the whole neighbourhood. 

It is pleasant enough to consider the changes that a Unen fragment 
undergoes, by passing through the several hands above-mentioned. 
The finest pieces of Holland, when torn to tatters, assume a new 
whiteness more beautiful than their first, and often return in the 
shape of letters to their native country. A lady's shift may be 
metamorphosed into billet-doux, and come into her possession a 
second time. A beau may peruse his cravat after it is worn out, 
with greater pleasure and advantage than ever he did in a glass. 
In a word, a piece of cloth, after having officiated for some years as 
a towel or a napkin, may by this means be raised from a dunghill, 
and become the most valuable piece of furniture in a prince's cabinet. 

The politest nations of Europe have endeavoured to vie with 
one another for the reputation of the finest printing : absolute govern- 
ments, as well as republics, have encouraged an art which seems 
to be the noblest and most beneficial that was ever invented among 
the sons of men. The present king of France, in his pursuits after 
glory, has particularly distinguished himself by the promoting of 
tliis useful art, insomuch that several books have been printed in 
the Louvre at his own expense, upon which he sets so great a value, 
that he considers them as the noblest presents he can make to 
foreign princes and ambassadors. If we look into the common- 
wealths of Holland and Venice, we shall find that in this particular 
they have made themselves the envy of the greatest monarchies. 
Elzevir and Aldus are more frequently mentioned than any pensioner 
of the one or doge of the other. 

The several presses which are now in England, and the encour- 
agement which has been given to learning, for some years last past, 
267 



THE SPECTATOR 

has made our own nation as glorious upon this account, as for its 
late triumphs and conquests. The new edition which is given us 
of Caesar's Commentaries, has already been taken notice of in foreign 
gazettes, and is a work that does honour to the English press. It is 
no wonder that an edition should be very correct, which has passed 
through the hands of one of the most accurate, learned, and judicious 
\\Titers this age has produced. The beauty of the paper, of the 
character, and of the several cuts with which this noble work is 
illustrated, makes it the finest book that I have ever seen; and is a 
true instance of the English genius, which, though it does not come 
the first into any art, generally carries it to greater heights than any 
other country in the world. I am particularly glad that this author 
comes from a British printing-house in so great a magnificence, as 
he is the first who has given us any tolerable account of our country. 
My illiterate readers, if any such there are, will be surprised to 
hear me talk of learning as the glory of a nation, and of printing as 
an art that gains a reputation to a people among whom it flourishes. 
WTien men's thoughts are taken up with avarice and ambition, they 
cannot look upon anything as great or valuable which does not 
bring with it an extraordinary power or interest to the person who 
is concerned in it. But as I shall never sink this paper so far as 
to engage with Goths and Vandals, I shall only regard such kind of 
reasoners with that pity which is due to so deplorable a degree of 
stupidity and ignorance. 



I 



HUMOROUS WAY OF SORTING 
COMPANIES 

No. 371.] TUESDAY, May 6, 1712. [Addison.] 

Jamne igitur laudas quod de sapientibus unus 
Ridebat ? — Juv. 

SHALL communicate to my reader the following letter for 
the entertainment of this day. 



" Sir, — You know very well that our nation is more famous for 
that sort of men who are called Whims and Humourists, than any 
268 



THE SPECTATOR 

other country in the world ; for which reason it is observed that our 
Enghsh comedy excels that of all other nations in the novelty and 
variety of its characters. 

"Among those innumerable sets of Whims which our country 
produces, there are none whom I have regarded with more curiosity 
than those who have invented any particular kind of diversion for 
the entertainment of themselves or their friends. My letter shall 
single out those who take deUght in sorting a company that has 
something of burlesque and ridicule in its appearance. I shall 
make myself understood by the following example. One of the 
wits of the last age, who was a man of a good estate, thought he 
never laid out his money better than in a jest. As he was one year 
at the Bath, observing that in the great confluence of fine people, 
there were several among them with long chins, a part of the visage 
by which he himself was very much distinguished, he invited to 
dinner half a score of these remarkable persons who had their 
mouths in the middle of their faces. They had no sooner placed 
themselves about the table, but they began to stare upon one another, 
not being able to imagine what had brought them together. Our 
English proverb says, 

'Tis merry in the hall, 
When beards wag all. 

It proved so in an assembly I am now speaking of, who seeing so 
many peaks of faces agitated with eating, drinking, and discourse, 
and observing all the chins that were present meeting together very 
often over the centre of the table, every one grew sensible of the 
jest, and came into it with so much good-humour, that they lived 
in strict friendship and aUiance from that day forward. 

" The same gentleman some time after packed together a set of 
oglers, as he called them, consisting of such as had an unlucky cast 
in their eyes. His diversion on this occasion was to see the cross 
bows, mistaken signs, and wrong connivances that passed amidst 
so many broken and refracted rays of sight. 

"The third feast which this merry gentleman exhibited was to 
the stammerers, whom he got together in a sufficient body to fill 
his table. He had ordered one of his servants, who was placed 
behind a screen, to write down their table-talk, which was very 
easy to be done without the help of short-hand. It appears by the 
notes which were taken, that though their conversation never fell, 
269 



THE SPECTATOR 

there were not above twenty words spoken during the first course; 
that upon serving up the second, one of the company was a quarter 
of an hour in telling them, that the duckhns and sparrow-grass 
was very good ; and that another took up the same time in declaring 
himself of the same opinion. This jest did not, however, go off 
so well as the former; for one of the guests being a brave man, and 
fuller of resentment than he knew how to express, went out of the 
room, and sent the facetious inviter a challenge in writing, which 
though it was afterwards dropped by the interposition of friends, 
put a stop to these ludicrous entertainments. 

"Now, sir, I dare say you will agree with me, that as there is no 
moral in these jests, they ought to be discouraged, and looked upon 
rather as pieces of unluckiness than wit. However, as it is natural 
for one man to refine upon the thought of another, and impossible 
for any single person, how great soever his parts may be, to invent 
an art, and bring it to its utmost perfection; I shall here give you an 
account of an honest gentleman of my acquaintance, who upon 
hearing the character of the wit above-mentioned, has himself 
assumed it, and endeavoured to convert it to the benefit of mankind. 
He invited half a dozen of his friends one day to dinner, who were 
each of them famous for inserting several redundant phrases in their 
discourse, as ' D'ye hear me. D'ye see. That is. And so, sir.' Each 
of the guests making frequent use of his particular elegance, ap- 
peared so ridiculous to his neighbour, that he could not but reflect 
upon himself as appearing equally ridiculous to the rest of the 
company: by this means, before they had sat long togther, every 
■• ne talking with the greatest circumspection, and carefully avoiding 
his favourite expletive, the conversation was cleared of its redun- 
dancies, and had a greater quantity of sense, though less of sound 
in it. 

"The same well-meaning gentleman took occasion at another 
time, to bring together such of his friends as were addicted to a 
foolish habitual custom of swearing. In order to show them the 
absurdity of the practice, he had recourse to the invention above- 
mentioned, having placed an amanuensis in a private part of the 
room. After the second bottle, when men open their minds without 
reserve, my honest friend began to take notice of the many sonorous 
but imnecessary words that had passed in his house since their 
sitting down at table, and how much good conversation they had 
lost by giving way to such superfluous phrases. What a tax, says 
270 



THE SPECTATOR 

he, would they have raised for the poor, had we put the laws in 
execution upon one another? Every one of them took this gentle 
reproof in good part: upon which he told them, that knowing 
their conversation would have no secrets in it, he had ordered it to 
be taken down in writing, and for the humour-sake would read it 
to them if they pleased. There were ten sheets of it, which might 
have been reduced to two, had there not been those abominable 
interpolations I have before mentioned. Upon the reading of it 
in cold blood, it looked rather like a conference of fiends than of 
men. In short, every one trembled at himself upon hearing calmly 
what he had pronounced amidst the heat and inadvertency of 
discourse. 

"I shall only mention another occasion wherein he made use of 
the same invention to cure a different kind of men, who are the 
pests of all polite conversation, and murder time as much as either 
of the two former, though they do it more innocently; I mean that 
dull generation of story-tellers. My friend got together about half 
a dozen of his acquaintance, who were infected with this strange 
malady. The first day one of them sitting down, entered upon the 
siege of Namur, which lasted till four o'clock, their time of parting. 
The second day a North Briton took possession of the discourse, 
which it was impossible to get out of his hands so long as the com- 
pany staid together. The third day was engrossed after the same 
manner by a story of the same length. They at last began to reflect 
upon this barbarous way of treating one another, and by this means 
awakened out of that lethargy with which each of them had been 
seized for several years. 

"As you have somewhere declared, that extraordinary and 
imcommon characters of mankind are the game which you delight 
in, and as I look upon you to be the greatest sportsman, or, if you 
please, the Nimrod, among this species of writers, I thought this 
discovery would not be unacceptable to you. 

"I am, sir," &c. 



271 



THE SPECTATOR 



ON COMPASSION 

No. 397.1 THURSDAY, June 5, 1712. [Addison.^ 

— Dolor ipse disertum 
Fecerat. — Ovid. 

AS the Stoic philosophers discard all passions in general, they 
will not allow a wise man so much as to pity the afflictions 
of another. " If thou seest thy friend in trouble, (says Epictetus,) 
thou mayest put on a look of sorrow, and condole with him, but 
take care that thy sorrow be not real." The more rigid of this 
sect would not comply so far as to show even such an outward 
appearance of grief; but when one told them of any calamity that 
had befallen even the nearest of their acquaintance, would imme- 
diately reply, "What is that to me?" If you aggravated the cir- 
cumstances of the affliction, and showed how one misfortime was 
followed by another, the answer was still, "All this may be true, 
but what is it to me?" 

For my own part, 1 am of opinion, compassion does not only 
refine and civilize human nature, but has something in it more 
pleasing and agreeable than what can be met with in such an indo- 
lent happiness, such an indifference to mankind, as that in which, 
the Stoics placed their wisdom. As love is the most delightful 
passion, pity is nothing else but love softened by a degree of sorrow: 
in short, it is a kind of pleasing anguish, as well as generous sym- 
pathy, that knits mankind together, and blends them in the same 
common lot. 

Those who have laid down rules for rhetoric or poetry, ad\ise 
the writer to work himself up, if possible, to the pitch of sorrow 
which he endeavours to produce in others. There are none, there- 
fore, who stir up pity so much as those who indite their own suffer- 
ings. Grief has a natural eloquence belonging to it, and breaks 
out in more moving sentiments than can be supplied by the finest 
imagination. Nature on this occasion dictates a thousand passion- 
ate things which cannot be supplied by art. 

It is for this reason that the short speeches or sentences which 
we often meet with in histories, make a deeper impression on the 
mind of the reader than the most laboured strokes in a well-written 
272 



THE SPECTATOR 

tragedy. Truth and matter of fact sets the person actually before 
us in the one, whom fiction places at a greater distance from us in 
the other. I do not remember to have seen any ancient or modem 
story more affecting than a letter of Ann of Bologne, wife to King 
Henry the Eighth, and mother to Queen Elizabeth, which is still 
extant in the Cotton library, as written by her own hand. 

Shakspeare himself could not have made her talk in a strain so 
suitable to her condition and character. One sees in it the expostu- 
lations of a slighted lover, the resentments of an injured woman, 
and the sorrows of an imprisoned queen. I need not acquaint my 
reader that this princess was then under prosecution for disloyalty 
to the king's bed, and that she was afterwards pubhcly beheaded 
upon the same account, though this prosecution was believed by 
many to proceed, as she herself intimates, rather from the king's 
love to Jane Seymour, than from any actual crime in Ann of 
Bologne. 

Queen Ann Boleyn's last Letter to King Henry. 

"Sir, — Your Grace's displeasure, and my imprisonment, are 
things so strange unto me, as what to write, or what to excuse, I 
am altogether ignorant. Whereas you send unto me (willing me 
to confess a truth, and so obtain your favour) by such an one, whom 
you know to be mine ancient professed enemy. I no sooner re- 
ceived this message by him than I rightly conceived your meaning; 
and if, as you say, confessing a truth, indeed may procure my safety, 
I shall with all willingness and duty perform your command. 

" But let not your Grace ever imagine that your poor wife will ever 
be brought to acknowledge a fault, where not so much as a thought 
thereof preceded. And to speak a truth, never prince had wife 
more loyal in all duty, and in all true affection, than you have ever 
found in Ann Boleyn: with which name and place I could willingly 
have contented myself, if God and your Grace's pleasure had been 
so pleased. Neither did I at any time so far forget myself in my 
exaltation, or received queenship, but that I always looked for such 
an alteration as now I find ; for the ground of my preferment being 
on no surer foundation than your Grace's fancy, the least altera- 
tion I knew was fit and sufficient to draw that fancy to some other 
subject. You have chosen me, from a low estate, to be your queen 
and companion, far beyond my desert and desire. If then you 

273 



THE SPECTATOR 

foirnd me worthy of such honour, good your Grace let not any light 
fancy, or bad counsel of mine enemies withdraw your princely 
favour from me; neither let that stain, that unworthy stain, of a 
disloyal heart towards your good Grace, ever cast so foul a blot on 
your most dutiful wife, and the infant princess your daughter. 
Try me, good king, but let me have a lawful trial, and let not my 
sworn enemies sit as my accusers and judges; yea, let me receive 
an open trial, for my truth shall fear no open shame; then shall you 
see either mine innocency cleared, your suspicion and conscience 
satisfied, the ignominy and slander of the world stopped, or my 
guilt openly declared. So that whatsoever God or you may deter- 
mine of me, your Grace may be freed from an open censure, and 
mine offence being so lawfully proved, your Grace is at Uberty, both 
before God and man, not only to execute worthy punishment on me 
as an imlawful wife, but to follow your affection, already settled on 
that party, for whose sake I am now as I am, whose name I could 
some good while since have pointed unto, your Grace being not ig- 
norant of my suspicion therein. 

" But if you have already determined of me, and that not only my 
death, but an infamous slander must bring you the enjoying of your 
desired happiness; then I desire of God, that he will pardon your 
great sin therein, and Hkewise mine enemies, the instruments there- 
of; and that he will not call you to a strict account for your un- 
princely and cruel usage of me, at his general judgment-seat, where 
both you and myself must shortly appear, and in whose judgment I 
doubt not (whatsoever the world may think of me) mine innocence 
shall be openly known and sufficiently cleared. 

"My last and only request shall be, that myself may only bear 
the burden of yovu: Grace's displeasure, and that it may not touch 
the innocent souls of those poor gentlemen who (as I imderstand) 
are hkewise in strait imprisonment for my sake. If ever I have 
found favour in your sight, if ever the name of Ann Boleyn hath 
been pleasing in your ears, then let me obtain this request, and I 
will so leave to trouble your Grace any further, with mine earnest 
prayers to the Trinity to have your Grace in his good keeping, and 
to direct you in all your actions. From my doleful prison in the 
Tower, this sixth of May. 

"Your most loyal and ever faithful wife, 

Ann Boleyn." 



274 



THE SPECTATOR 

ON THE DEATH OF THE KING OF 
FRANCE 

No. 403.] THURSDAY, June 12, 171 2. [Addison.] 

Qui mores hominum multorum vidit. — HoR. 

WHEN I consider this great city in its several quarters and di- 
visions, I look upon it as an aggregate of various nations, dis- 
tinguished from each other by their respective customs, manners, and 
interests. The courts of two countries do not so much differ from 
one another, as the court and city in their pecuUar ways of life and 
conversation. In short, the inhabitants of St. James's, notwith- 
standing they hve under the same laws, and speak the same lan- 
guage, are a distinct people from those of Cheapside, who are like- 
wise removed from those of the Temple on the one side, and those 
of Smithfield on the other, by several chmates and degrees in their 
way of thinking and conversing together. 

For this reason, when any public affair is upon the anvil, I love to 
hear the reflections that arise upon it in the several districts and 
parishes of London and Westminster, and to ramble up and down 
a whole day together, in order to make myself acquainted with the 
opinions of my ingenious countrymen. By this means I know the 
faces of all the principal politicians within the bills of mortality; 
and as every coffee-house has some particular statesman belonging 
to it, who is the mouth of the street where he lives, I always take care 
to place myself near him, in order to know his judgment on the pres- 
ent posture of affairs. The last progress that I made ^vith this in- 
tention, was about three months ago, when we had a current report 
of the king of France's death. As I foresaw this would produce a 
new face of things in Europe, and many curious speculations in our 
British coffee-houses, I was very desirous to learn the thoughts of 
our most eminent poUticians on that occasion. 

That I might begin as near the fountain-head as possible, I first 
of all called in at St. James's, where I found the whole outward 
room in a buzz of poUtics. The speculations were but very indiffer- 
ent towards the door, but grew finer as you advanced to the upper 
end of the room, and were so very much improved by a knot of 
theorists who sat in the inner room, within the steams of the coffee- 

275 



THE SPECTATOR 

pot, that I there heard the whole Spanish monarchy disposed of, 
and all the Une of Bourbon proxided for, in less than a quarter 
of an ho\ir. 

I afterwards called m at Giles's, where I saw a board of French 
gentlemen sitting upon the Hfe and death of their Grand Monarque. 
Those among them who had espoused the \Miig interest, very 
positively afl&rmed, that he departed this hfe about a week since, 
and therefore proceeded without any further delay to the release 
of their friends on the galleys, and to their own re-estabUshment ; 
but finding they could not agree among themselves, I proceeded 
on my intended progress. 

Upon my arrival at Jenny Man's, I saw an alert young fellow 
that cocked his hat upon a friend of his who entered just at the 
same time with myself, and accosted him after the following manner: 
" Well Jack, the old prig is dead at last. Sharp's the word. Now 
or never boy. Up to the walls of Paris directly." With several 
other deep reflections of the same nature. 

I met "w-ith very Httle variation in the pohtics between Charing 
Cross and Covent Garden. And upon my going into \\'ill.'s, I 
found their discourse was gone off from the death of the French 
king to that of ]Monsieur Boileau, Racine, Comeille, and several 
other poets, whom they regretted on this occasion, as persons who 
would have obhged the world with N'ery noble elegies on the death 
of so great a prince, and so eminent a patron of learning. 

At a coffee-house near the Temple, I found a couple of yoimg 
gentlemen engaged very smarth' in a dispute on the succession to 
the Spanish monarchy. One of them seemed to have been retained 
as advocate for the Duke of Anjou, the other for his Imperial Maj- 
esty. They were both for regulating the title to that kingdom 
by the statute laws of England ; but finding them going out of my 
depth, I passed forward to Paul's Churchyard, where I Ustened 
with great attention to a learned man, who gave the company an 
account of the deplorable state of France during the mmority of the 
deceased king. 

I then turned my right hand into Fish Street, where the chief 
poHtician of that quarter, upon hearing the news, (after having 
taken a pipe of tobacco, and ruminating for some time,) "If, (says 
he,) the king of France is certainl}- dead, we shall have plenty of 
mackerel this season; our fisher}- will not be disturbed by priva- 
teers, as it has been for these ten years past." He afterwards con- 

2T6 



THE SPECTATOR 

sidered how the death of this great man would affect our pilchards, 
and by several other remarks infused a general joy into his whole 
audience. 

I aftenvards entered by a coffee-house that stood at the upper 
end of a narrow lane, where I met with a Nonjuror, engaged very 
warmly with a Laceman who was the great support of a neighbour- 
ing conventicle. The matter in debate was, whether the late French 
king was most like Augustus Caesar or Nero. The controversy 
was carried on with great heat on both sides, and as each of them 
looked upon me very frequently during the course of their debate, 
I was under some apprehension that they would appeal to me, and 
therefore laid do^^^l my penny at the bar, and made the best of my 
way to Cheapside. 

I here gazed upon the signs for some time before I found one to 
my purpose. The first object I met in the coffee-room was a person 
\yho expressed a great grief for the death of the French king; but 
upon his explaining himself, I found his sorrow did not arise from 
the loss of the monarch, but for his having sold out of the bank 
about three days before he heard the news of it; upon which a haber- 
dasher, who was the oracle of the coffee-house, and had his circle 
of admirers about him, called several to witness that he had de- 
clared his opinion above a week before, that the French king was 
certainly dead; to which he added, that considering the late advices 
we had received from France, it was impossible that it could be 
otherwise. As he was laying these together, and dictating to his 
hearers with great authority, there came in a gentleman from Garra- 
way's, who told us that there were several letters from France just 
come in, with advice that the king was in good health, and was 
gone out a hunting the very morning the post came away: upon 
which the haberdasher stole off his hat that hvmg upon a wooden 
peg by him, and retired to his shop with great confusion. This 
inteUigence put a stop to my travels, which I had prosecuted with 
much satisfaction ; not being a little pleased to hear so many differ- 
ent opinions upon so great an event, and to observe how naturally 
upon such a piece of news every one is apt to consider it with a 
regard to his own particular interest and advantage. 



277 



THE SPECTATOR 



ON FEMALE EXTRAVAGANCES 

No. 435.] SATURDAY, July 19, 1712. [Addison.] 

Nee duo svint at forma duplex, nee fcemina dici 

Nee puer ut px)ssint, neutrumque et utrumque videntur. 

Ovn). Met. iv. 378. 

Both bodies in a single body mix, 
A single body with a double sex. 

MOST of the papers I give the pubhc are written on subjects that 
never van', but are for ever fixed and immutable. Of this 
kind are all my more serious essays and discourses; but there is 
another sort of speculations, which I consider as occasional papers, 
that take their rise from the folly, extravagance, and caprice of the 
present age. For I look upon myself as one set to watch the 
manners and beha\'iovir of my coxmtr\Tnen and contemporaries, 
and to mark down ever\' absurd fashion, ridiculous custom, or 
affected form of speech, that makes its appearance in the world 
during the course of my speculations. The petticoat no sooner 
began to swell, but I observ-ed its motions. The party-patches had 
not time to muster themselves before I detected them. I had 
intelligence of the coloured hood the ver}' first time it appeared in a 
public assembly. I might here mention several other the like con- 
tingent subjects, upon which I have bestowed distinct papers. By 
this means I have so eflfectually quashed those irregularities which 
gave occasion to them, that I am afraid posterity will scarce have a 
suflScient idea of them to relish those discourses which were in no 
little vogue at the time they were written. They will be apt to 
think that the fashions and customs I attacked were some fantastic 
conceits of my own, and that their great grandmothers could not be 
so whimsical as I have represented them. For this reason, when I 
think on the figure my several volumes of speculations wiU make 
about a himdred years hence, I consider them as so many pieces of 
old plate, where the weight will be regarded, but the fashion lost. 

Among the several female extravagances I have already taken 
notice of, there is one which still keeps its ground. I mean, that of 
the ladies who dress themselves in a hat and feather, a riding coat 
and periwig, or at least tie up their hair in a bag or riband, in imita- 



THE SPECTATOR 

tion of the smart part of the opposite sex. As in my yesterday's 
paper I gave an account of the mixture of two sexes in one common- 
wealth, I shall here take notice of this mixture of two sexes in one 
person. I have already shown my dishke of this immodest custom 
more than once; but, in contempt of everjlhing I have hitherto 
said, I am informed that the highways about this great city are still 
very much infested with these female cavaliers. 

I remember when I was at my friend Sir Roger de Coverley's 
about this time twelvemonth, an equestrian lady of this order 
appeared upon the plains which lay at a distance from his house. I 
was at the time walking in the fields with my old friend; and as 
his tenants ran out on every side to see so strange a sight, sir Roger 
asked one of them who came by us, what it was? To which the 
country fellow replied, ' 'Tis a gentlewoman, saving your worship's 
presence, in a coat and hat.' This produced a great deal of mirth 
at the knight's house, where we had a story at the same time of 
another of his tenants, who, meeting this gentleman-like lady on 
the highway, was asked by her whether that was Coverley-hall ? 
The honest man seeing only the male part of the querist, replied, 
'Yes, Sir;' but upon the second question, whether Sir Roger de 
Coverley was a married man? having dropf)ed his eye upon the 
petticoat, he changed his note into 'No, Madam.' 

Had one of these hermaphrodites appeared in Juvenal's days, 
with what an indignation should we have seen her described by 
that excellent satirist! He would have represented her in a riding 
habit, as a greater monster than the centaur. He would have called 
for sacrifices of purifying waters, to expiate the appearance of such 
a prodigy. He would have invoked the shades of Portia or Lucre- 
tia, to see into what the Roman ladies had transformed themselves. 

For my own part, I am for treating the sex with greater tenderness, 
and have all along made use of the most gentle methods to bring 
them off from any little extravagance into which they have some- 
times unwarily fallen. I think it however absolutely necessary to 
keep up the partition between the two sexes, and to take notice of 
the smallest encroachment which the one makes upon the other. 
I hope therefore I shall not hear any more complamts on this subject. 
I am sure my she -disciples, who peruse these my daily lectures, have 
profited but little by them, if they are capable of giving in to such 
an amphibious dress. This I should not have mentioned, had I 
not lately met one of these my female readers in Hyde-park, who 
279 



THE SPECTATOR 

looked upon me with a masculine assurance, and cocked her hat 
full in my face. 

For my part, I have one general key to the behaviour of the fair 
sex. AMien I see them singular in any part of their dress, I con- 
clude it is not without some exH intention: and therefore question 
not but the design of this strange fashion is to smite more effectually 
their male beholders. Now to set them right in this particular, I 
would fain have them consider for themselves, whether we are 
not more likely to be struck by a figure entirely female, than with 
such an one as we may see even- day in otir glasses. Or, if they 
please, let them reflect upon their ovra hearts, and think how they 
would be affected should they meet a man on horseback, in his 
breeches and jack -boots, and at the same time dressed up in a 
commode and a nightrail. 

I must obser\-e that this fashion was first of all brought to us from 
France, a countr}- which has infected all the nations of Europe with 
its le\-ity. I speak not this in derogation of a whole people, ha\-ing 
more than once foimd fault with those general reflections which 
strike at kingdoms or commonwealths in the gross : a piece of cruelty, 
which an ingenious writer of our own compares to that of Caligula, 
who wished that the Roman people had all but one neck, that he 
might behead them at a blow. I shall therefore only remark, that, 
as liveliness and assurance are in a pecuhar manner the qualifications 
of the French nation, the same habits and customs will not give the 
same offence to that people which they produce among those of 
our own cotmtr\-. Modesty is our distinguishing character, as 
\-ivacity is theirs: and when this our national \irtue appears in that 
female beauty for which our British ladies are celebrated above all 
others in the vmiverse, it makes up the most amiable object that the 
eye of man can possibly behold. C. 



280 



THE SPECTATOR 



CUSTOM 



No. 447.] SATURDAY, August 2, 1712. [Addison.] 

Ta&TTjv avOpunrolffi reXeiruaav (t>'6ffiv elvai. 

Long exercise, my friend, inures the mind; 
And what we once disliked, we pleasing find. 

THERE is not a common sa\ingwliich has a better turn of sense 
in it, than what we often hear in the mouths of the \-ulgar, 
that "custom is a second nature." It is indeed able to form the 
man anew, and to give him incUnations and capacities ahogether 
different from those he was bom with. Dr. Plot, in his history of 
Staffordshire, tells us of an idiot, that, chancing to live -within the 
sound of a clock, and always amusing himself with counting the 
hour of the day whenever the clock struck, the clock being spoiled 
by accident, the idiot continued to strike and count the hour with- 
out the help of it, in the same manner as he had done when it was 
entire. Though I dare not vouch for the truth of this stor}-, it is 
very certain that custom has a mechanical effect upon the body, at 
the same time that it has a very extraordinary influence upon the 
mind. 

I shall in this paper consider one very remarkable effect which 
custom has upon human nature, and which, if rightly observed, may 
lead us into very useful rules of Ufe. What I shall here take notice 
of in custom, is its wonderful efficacy in making ever}1:hing pleas- 
ant to us. A person who is addicted to play or gaming, though he 
took but Uttle dehght in it at first, by degrees contracts so strong an 
inclination towards it, and gives himself up so entirely to it, that it 
seems the only end of his being. The love of a retired or busy Ufe 
will grow upon a man insensibly, as he is conversant in the one or 
the other, until he is utterly imquaUfied for relishing that to which 
he has been for some time disused. Xay, a man may smoke, or 
drink, or take snuff, until he is unable to pass away his time without 
it; not to mention how our deUghts in any particular study, art, or 
science, rises and improves in proportion to the apphcation which 
we bestow upon it. Thus, what was at first an exercise, becomes 
at length an entertainment. Our emploxTnents are changed into 
281 



THE SPECTATOR 

our diversions. The mind grows fond of those actions which she is 
accustomed to, and is drawn with reluctancy from those paths in 
which she has been used to walk. 

Not only such actions as were at first indifferent to us, but even 
such as are painful, will by custom and practice become pleasant. 
Sir Francis Bacon observes in his natural philosophy, that our taste 
is never pleased better than with those things which at first created 
a disgust in it. He gives particular instances, of claret, coffee, and 
other liquors, which the palate seldom approves upon the first taste ; 
but, when it has once got a rehsh for them, generally retains it for 
life. The mind is constituted after the same manner; and, after 
having habituated herself to any particular exercise or employment, 
not only loses her first aversion towards it, but conceives a certain 
fondness and affection for it. I have heard one of the greatest 
geniuses this age has produced, who had been trained up in all the 
poHte studies of antiquity, assure me, upon his being obhged to 
search into several rolls and records, that, notwithstanding such an 
employment was at first very dry and irksome to him, he at last took 
an incredible pleasure in it, and preferred it even to the reading of 
Virgil or Cicero. The reader will observe that I have not here con- 
sidered custom as it makes things easy, but as it renders them de- 
hghtful; and though others have often made the same reflections, 
it is possible they may not have drawn those uses from it, with which 
I intend to fill the remaining part of this paper. 

If we consider attentively this property of human nature, it may 
instruct us in very fine morahties. In the first place, I would have 
no man discouraged with that kind of Ufe, or series of action, in 
which the choice of others, or his own necessities, may have engaged 
him. It may perhaps be very disagreeable to him at first; but use 
and application will certainly render it not only less ' painful, 
but pleasing and satisfactory. 

In the second place, I would recommend to every one that ad- 
mirable precept which Pythagoras is said to have given to his disci- 
ples, and which that philosopher must have drawn from the observa- 
tion I have enlarged upon. Optimum vita genus eligito, nam con- 
suetudo faciet jiicundissimum; " Pitch upon that course of hfe which 
is the most excellent, and custom will render it the most delightful." 
Men, whose circumstances will permit them to choose their own 
way of Hfe, are inexcusable if they do not pursue that which their 
judgment tells them is the most laudable. The voice of reason is 
282 



THE SPECTATOR 

more to be regarded than the bent of any present indination, since, 
by the rule above-mentioned, inclination will at length come over to 
reason, though we can never force reason to comply with inclination. 

In the third place, this observation may teach the most sensual 
and irreligious man to overlook those hardships and difficulties 
which are apt to discourage him from the prosecution of a virtuous 
life. " The gods," said Hesiod, " have placed labour before virtue ; 
the way to her is at first rough and difficult, but grows more smooth 
and easy the farther you advance in it." The man who proceeds 
in it with steadiness and resolution, will in a Uttle time find that "her 
ways are ways of pleasantness, and that all her paths are peace." 

To enforce this consideration, we may further observe, that the 
practice of religion will not only be attended with that pleasure 
which naturally accompanies those actions to which we are habit- 
uated, but with those supernumerary joys of heart that rise from the 
consciousness of such a pleasure, from the satisfaction of acting up 
to the dictates of reason, and from the prospect of an happy immor- 
tality. 

In the fourth place, we may learn from this observation, which 
we have made on the mind of man, to take particular care, when 
we are once settled in a regular course of life, how we too frequently 
indulge ourselves in any of the most innocent diversions and enter- 
tainments; since the mind may insensibly fall off from the relish of 
virtuous actions, and, by degrees, exchange that pleasure which it 
takes in the performance of its duty for delights of a much more 
inferior and xmprofitable nature. 

The last use which I shall make of this remarkable property in 
human nature, of being delighted with those actions to which it is 
accustomed, is to show how absolutely necessary it is for us to gain 
habits of \irtue in this life, if we would enjoy the pleasures of the 
next. The state of bUss we call heaven will not be capable of affect- 
ing those minds which are not thus qualified for it ; we must, in this 
world, gain a relish of truth and virtue, if we would be able to taste 
that knowledge and perfection which are to make us happy in the 
next. The seeds of those spiritual joys and raptures, which are to 
rise up and flourish in the soul to all eternity, must be planted in her 
during this her present state of probation. In short, heaven is not 
to be looked upon only as the reward, but as the natural effect of a 
religious life. 

On the other hand, those evil spirits, who, by long custom, have 
283 



THE SPECTATOR 

contracted in the body habits of lust and sensuaHty, malice and re- 
venge, an aversion to everything that is good, just, or laudable, are 
naturally seasoned and prepared for pain and misery. Their tor- 
ments have already taken root in them; they cannot be happy when 
divested of the body, unless we may suppose that Providence will 
in a manner create them anew, and work a miracle in the rectifica- 
tion of their faculties. They may, indeed, taste a kind of malig- 
nant pleasure in those actions to which they are accustomed, whilst 
in this life ; but when they are removed from all those objects which 
are here apt to gratify them, they will naturally become their own 
tormentors, and cherish in themselves those painful habits of mind 
which are called in scripture phrase, "the worm which never dies." 
This notion of heaven and hell is so conformable to the light of na- 
ture, that it was discovered by several of the most exalted heathens. 
It has been finely improved by many eminent divines of the last age, 
as in particular by Archbishop Tillotson and Dr. Sherlock: but 
there is none who has raised such noble speculations upon it as Dr. 
Scott, in the first book of his Christian Life, which is one of the finest 
and most rational schemes of divinity that is written in our tongue, 
or in any other. That excellent author has shown how every par- 
ticular custom and habit of virtue will, in its own nature, produce 
the heaven, or a state of happiness, in him who shall hereafter prac- 
tise it: as, on the contrary, how every custom or habit of vice will 
be the natural hell of him in whom it subsists. C. 



ON NEWS-WRITERS AND READERS 

No. 452.] FRIDAY, August 8, 1712. [Addison.] 

Est natura hominum novitatis avida. — Plin. apud Lillhtm. 

THERE is no humour in my countrymen, which I am more 
inclined to wonder at, than their general thirst after news. 
There are about half a dozen ingenious men, who live very plenti- 
fully upon this curiosity of their fellow-subjects. They all of them 
receive the same advices from abroad, and very often in the same 
words; but their way of cooking it is so different, that there is no 
citizen, who has an eye to the public good, that can leave the cofifee- 
284 



THE SPECTATOR 

house with peace of mind, before he has given every one of them 
a reading. These several dishes of news are so very agreeable 
to the palate of my countrymen, that they are not only pleased 
with them when they are served up hot, but when they are again 
set cold before them by those penetrating politicians, who oblige 
the public with their reflections and observations upon every piece 
of intelligence that is sent us from abroad. The text is given us 
by one set of writers, and the comment by another. 

But notwithstanding we have the same tale told us in so many 
different papers, and if occasion requires, in so many articles of 
the same paper; notwithstanding in a scarcity of foreign posts we 
hear the same story repeated, by different advices from Paris, 
Brussels, the Hague, and from every great town in Europe; not- 
withstanding the multitude of annotations, explanations, reflec- 
tions, and various readings which it passes through, our time lies 
heavy on our hands till the arrival of a fresh mail: we long to receive 
further particulars, to hear what will be the next step, or what will 
be the consequence of that which has been lately taken. A westerly 
wind keeps the whole town in suspense, and puts a stop to conver- 
sation. 

This general curiosity has been raised and mflamed by our late 
wars, and, if rightly directed, might be of good use to a person 
who has such a thirst awakened in him. Why should not a man 
who takes delight in reading everything that is new, apply himself 
to history, travels, and other writings of the same kind, where he 
will find perpetual fuel for his curiosity, and meet with much more 
pleasure and improvement, than in these papers of the week? An 
honest tradesman, who languishes a whole summer in expectation 
of a battle, and perhaps is balked at last, may here meet with half 
a dozen in a day. He may read the news of a whole campaign in 
less time than he now bestows upon the products of any single post. 
Fights, conquests, and revolutions lie thick together. The reader's 
curiosity is raised and satisfied every moment, and his passions dis- 
appointed or gratified, without being detained in a state of im cer- 
tainty from day to day, or lying at the mercy of sea and wind. In 
short, the mind is not here kept in a perpetual gape after knowledge, 
nor punished with that eternal thirst which is the portion of all 
our modem newsmongers and coffee-house politicians. 

All matters of fact, which a man did not know before, are news 
to him; and I do not see how any haberdasher in Cheapside is more 

285 



THE SPECTATOR 

concerned in the present quarrel of the Cantons, than he was in 
that of the League. At least, I believe every one will allow me, 
it is of more importance to an Englishman to know the history of 
his ancestors, than that of his contemporaries who live upon the 
banks of the Danube or the Borysthenes. As for those who are 
of another mind, I shall recommend to them the following letter, 
from a projector, who is willing to turn a penny by this remarkable 
ciu-iosity of his countrymen. 

"Mr. Spectator, — You must have observed, that men who 
frequent coffee-houses, and delight in news, are pleased with every- 
thing that is matter of fact, so it be what they have not heard before. 
A victory, or a defeat, are equally agreeable to them. The shut- 
ting of a cardinal's mouth pleases them one post, and the opening 
of it another. They are glad to hear the French covurt is removed 
to Marli, and are afterwards as much delighted with its return to 
Versailles. They read the advertisements with the same curiosity 
as the articles of public news ; and are as pleased to hear of a piebald 
horse that is strayed out of a field near Islington, as of a whole 
troop that has been engaged in any foreign adventiu-e. In short, 
they have a relish for everything that is news, let the matter of it be 
what it will ; or to speak more properly, they are men of a voracious 
appetite, but no taste. Now, sir, since the great fountain of news, 
I mean the war, is very near being dried up ; and since these gentle- 
men have contracted such an inextinguishable thirst after it; I have 
taken their case and my own into consideration, and have thought 
of a project which may turn to the advantage of us both. I have 
thoughts of publishing a daily paper, which shall comprehend in 
it all the most remarkable occurrences in every little town, village, 
and hamlet, that lie within ten miles of London, or in other words, 
wi'.hin the verge of the penny-post. I have pitched upon this scene 
of intelligence for two reasons; first, because the carriage of letters 
will be very cheap; and secondly, because I may receive them every 
day. By this means my readers will have their news fresh and 
fresh, and many worthy citizens, who cannot sleep with any satis- 
faction at present, for want of being informed how the world goes, 
may go to bed contentedly, it being my design to put out my paper 
every night at nine-a-clock precisely. I have already established 
correspondences in these several places, and received very good 
intelligence, 

236 



THE SPECTATOR 

"By my last advices from Knightsbridge I hear that a horse was 
clapped into the poimd on the third instant, and that he was not 
released when the letters came away. 

" We are informed from Pankridge, that a dozen weddings were 
lately celebrated in the mother-church of that place, but are referred 
to their next letters for the names of the parties concerned. 

"Letters from Brompton advise, that the widow Blight had 
received several visits from John Mildew, which affords great 
matter of speculation in those parts. 

" By a fisherman which lately touched at Hammersmith, there is 
advice from Putney, that a certain person well known in that place, 
is hke to lose his election for church-warden ; but this being boat- 
news, we cannot give entire credit to it. 

"Letters from Paddington bring httle more than that William 
Squeak, the sow-gelder, passed through that place the fifth instant. 

"They advise from Fulham, that things remained there in the 
same state they were. They had intelUgence, just as the letters 
came away, of a tub of excellent ale just set a-broach at Parsons 
Green; but this wanted confirmation. 

" I have here, sir, given you a specimen of the news with which I 
intend to entertain the town, and which when drawn up regularly 
in the form of a newspaper, will, I doubt not, be very acceptable to 
many of those public-spirited readers, who take more deUght in 
acquainting themselves with other people's business than their 
own. I hope a paper of this kind, which lets us know what is done 
near home, may be more useful to us than those which are filled 
with advices from Zug and Bender, and make some amends for that 
dearth of intelligence, which we may justly apprehend from times 
of peace. If I find that you receive this project favourably, I will 
shortly trouble you with one or two more ; and in the mean time am, 
most worthy sir, with aU due respect, 

"Your most obedient and most humble servant." 



287 



THE SPECTATOR 



ON TRUE AND FALSE MODESTY 

No. 458.] FRIDAY, August 15, 1712. [Addison.] 

AfStof ovK dyaOr). — Hes. 
Pudor malus. — HoR. 

I COULD not but smile at the account that was yesterday given 
me of a modest young gentleman, who being invited to an 
entertainment, though he was not used to drink, had not the confi- 
dence to refuse his glass in his turn, when on a sudden he grew so 
flustered that he took all the talk of the table into his o^vn hands, 
abused every one of the company, and flung a bottle at the gentle- 
man's head who treated him. This has given me occasion to 
reflect upon the ill effects of a vicious modesty, and to remember 
the saying of Brutus, as it is quoted by Plutarch, that " the person 
has had but an ill education, who has not been taught to deny 
anything." This false kind of modesty has, perhaps, betrayed 
both sexes into as many vices as the most abandoned impudence, and 
is the more inexcusable to reason, because it acts to gratify others 
rather than itself, and is punished with a kind of remorse, not only 
like other vicious habits when the crime is over, but even at the 
very time that it is committed. 

Nothing is more amiable than true modesty, and nothing is more 
contemptible than the false. The one guards virtue, the other 
betrays it. True modesty is ashamed to do anything that is repug- 
nant to the rules of right reason: false modesty is ashamed to do 
anything that is opposite to the humour of the company. True 
modesty avoids everything that is criminal, false modesty everything 
that is unfashionable. The latter is only a general undetermined 
instinct; the former is that instinct hmited and circumscribed by 
the rules of prudence and reUgion. 

We may conclude that modesty to be false and vicious, which 
engages a man to do anything that is ill or indiscreet, or which 
restrains him from doing any that is of a contrary nature. How 
many men, in the common concerns of life, lend sums of money 
which they are not able to spare, are bound for persons whom they 
have but little friendship for, give recommendatory characters of 
288 



THE SPECTATOR 

men whom they are not acquainted with, bestow places on those 
whom they do not esteem, live in such a manner as they themselves 
do not approve, and all this merely because they have not the 
confidence to resist solicitation, importunity, or example. 

Nor does this false modesty expose us only to such actions as are 
indiscreet, but very often to such as are highly criminal. WTien 
Xenophanes was called timorous, because he would not venture his 
money in a game at dice: " I confess, (said he,) that I am exceeding 
timorous, for I dare not do an ill thing." On the contrary, a man 
of vicious modesty comphes with everything, and is only fearful of 
doing what may look singular in the company where he is engaged. 
He falls in with the torrent, and lets himself go to every action or 
discourse, however unjustifiable in itself, so it be in vogue among 
the present party. This, though one of the most common, is one 
of the most ridiculous dispositions in human nature, that men should 
not be ashamed of speaking or acting in a dissolute or irrational 
manner, but that one who is in their company should be ashamed 
of governing himself by the principles of reason and virtue. 

In the second place, we are to consider false modesty as it restrains 
a man from doing what is good and laudable. My reader's own 
thoughts will suggest to him many instances and examples under 
this head. I shall only dwell upon one reflection, which I cannot 
make without a secret concern. We have in England a particular 
bashfulness in everything that regards religion. A well-bred man 
is obliged to conceal any serious sentiment of this nature, and very 
often to appear a greater Ubertine than he is, that he may keep him- 
self in countenance among the men of mode. Our excess of modesty 
makes us shame-faced in all the exercises of piety and devotion. This 
humour prevails upon us daily; insomuch, that at many well-bred 
tables, the master of the house is so very modest a man, that he has 
not the confidence to say grace at his own table : a custom which is 
not only practised by all the nations about us, but was never omitted 
by the heathens themselves. English gentlemen who travel into 
Roman Catholic countries, are not a little surprised to meet ^vith 
people of the best quality kneeling in their churches, and engaged 
in their private devotions, though it be not at the hours of pubhc 
worship. An ofiScer of the army, or a man of wit and pleasure, in 
those countries, would be afraid of passing not only for an irrelig- 
ious, but an ill-bred man, should he be seen to go to bed, or sit 
down at table, without offering up his devotions on such occasions. 
289 



THE SPECTATOR 

The same show of religion appears in all the foreign reformed 
churches, and enters so much into their ordinary conversation, 
that an EngUshman is apt to term them h^'pocritical and precise. 

This Httle appearance of a reUgious deportment in our nation, 
may proceed in some measure from that modesty which is natural 
to us, but the great occasion of it is certainly this. Those swarms 
of sectaries that over-ran the nation in the time of the great rebel- 
Hon, carried their h}'pocrisy so high, that they had converted our 
whole language into a jargon of enthusiasm; insomuch, that upon 
the restoration men thought they could not recede too far from the 
beha\iour and practice of those persons, who had made reHgion a 
cloak to so many %-illanies. This led them into the other extreme, 
every appearance of devotion was looked upon as puritanical; and 
falling into the hands of the ridiculers who flourished in that reign, 
and attacked everything that was serious, it has ever since been out 
of countenance among us. By this means we are gradually fallen 
into that Aicious modesty which has in some measure worn out 
from among us the appearance of Christianity in ordinary Ufe and 
conversation, and which distinguishes us from aU our neighbours. 

H\-pocrisy cannot indeed be too much detested, but at the same 
time is to be preferred to open impiety. They are both equally 
destructive to the person who is possessed -n-ith them but in regard 
to others, h\-pocrisy is not so pernicious as bare-faced irreligion. 
The due mean to be observed is to be sincerely \-irtuous, and at the 
same time to let the world see we are so. I do not know a more 
dreadful menace in the holy writings, than that which is pronounced 
against those who have this perverted modesty, to be ashamed 
before men in a particular of such vinspeakable importance. 



290 



THE SPECTATOR 

MARRIAGE OF WILL HONEYCOMB 

No. 530.] FRIDAY, November 7, 1712. [Addison.] 

Sic visum Veneri; cui placet impares 
Formas atque animos sub juga ahenea 
Saevo mittere cum joco. 

HoR. I Od. xxxiii. 10. 

Thus Venus sports: the rich, the base, 
UnHke in fortune and in face. 
To disagreeing love provokes; 

When cruelly jocose, 

She ties the fatal noose. 
And binds the unequals to the brazen yokes. 

IT is very usual for those who have been severe upon marriage, 
in some part or other of their lives, to enter into the fraternity 
which they have ridiculed, and to see their raillery return upon 
their own heads. I scarce ever knew a woman-hater that did not, 
sooner or later, pay for it. Marriage, which is a blessing to another 
man, falls upon such a one as a judgment. IMr. Congreve's Old 
Bachelor is set forth to us with much wit and humour as an example 
of this kind. In short, those who have most distinguished them- 
selves by railing at the sex in general, very often make an honourable 
amends, by choosing one of the most worthless persons of it for a 
companion and yoke-fellow. Hymen takes his revenge in kind 
on those who turn his mysteries into ridicule. 

My friend Will Honeycomb, who was so unmercifully witty 
upon the women in a couple of letters which I lately communi- 
cated to the public, has given the ladies ample satisfaction by 
marrying a farmer's daughter; a piece of news which came to our 
club by the last post. The Templar is very positive that he has 
married a dairy-maid: but Will, in his letter to me on this occasion, 
sets the best face upon the matter that he can, and gives a more 
tolerable account of his spouse. I must confess I suspected some- 
thing more than ordinary, when upon opening the letter I found 
that Will was fallen ofif from his former gaiety, having changed 
" Dear Spec," which was his usual salute at the beginning of the 
letter, into "My worthy Friend," and described himself in the latter 
end at full length William Honeycomb. In short, the gay, the 
291 



THE SPECTATOR 

loud, the vain Will Honeycomb, who had made love to every great 
fortune that has appeared in town for above thirty years together, 
and boasted of favours from ladies whom he had never seen, is at 
length wedded to a plain covmtry girl. 

His letter gives us the picture of a converted rake. The sober 
character of the husband is dashed with the man of the town, and 
enlivened with those little cant-phrases which have made my friend 
Will often thought very pretty company. But let us hear what 
he says for himself. 

" My worthy Friend, — I question not but you, and the rest 
of my acquaintance, wonder that I, who have lived in the smoke 
and gallantries of the town for thirty years together, should all on 
a sudden grow fond of a country life. Had not my dog of a steward 
run away as he did without making up his accounts, I had still 
been immersed in sin and sea-coal. But since my late forced visit 
to my estate, I am so pleased with it, that I am resolved to live and 
die upon it. I am every day abroad among my acres, and can 
scarce forbear filling my letter with breezes, shades, flowers, 
meadows, and purHng streams. The simplicity of manners, which 
I have heard you so often speak of, and which appears here in per- 
fection, charms me wonderfully. As an instance of it I must 
acquaint you, and by your means the whole club, that I have lately 
married one of my tenant's daughters. She is born of honest 
parents, and though she has no portion, she has a great deal of 
virtue. The natural sweetness and innocence of her behaviour, 
the freshness of her complexion, the unaffected turn of her shape 
and person, shot me through and through every time I saw her, 
and did more execution upon me in grogram than the greatest 
beauty in town or court had ever done in brocade. In short, she 
is such a one as promises me a good heir to my estate ; and if by her 
means I cannot leave to my children what are falsely called the 
gifts of birth, high titles, and alliances, I hope to convey to them 
the more real and valuable gifts of birth, strong bodies, and healthy 
constitutions. As for your fine women, I need not tell thee that 
I know them. I have had my share in their graces; but no more 
of that. It shall be my business hereafter to live the life of an honest 
man, and to act as becomes the master of a family. I question not 
but I shall draw upon me the raillery of the town, and be treated 
to the tune of 'The Marriage-hater Matched'; but I am prepared 
292 



THE SPECTATOR 

for it. I have been as witty upon others in my time. To tell thee 
truly, I saw such a tribe of fashionable young fluttering coxcombs 
shot up that I did not think my post of an homme de ruelle any 
longer tenable. I felt a certain stiffness in my Hmbs which entirely 
destroyed the jauntiness of air I was once master of. Besides, 
for I may now confess my age to thee, I have been eight -and-forty 
above these twelve years. Since my retirement into the country 
will make a vacancy in the club, I could wish that you would fill 
up my place with my friend Tom Dappenvit. He has an infinite 
deal of fire, and knows the town. For my own part, as I have said 
before, I shall endeavour to live hereafter suitable to a man in my 
station, as a prudent head of a family, a good husband, a careful 
father (when it shall so happen), and as 

"Your most sincere friend, and humble servant, 
"William Honeycomb." 



ON RETIREMENT 

No. 549.] TUESDAY, November 29, 1712. [Addison.] 

Quamvis digressu veteris confusus amici. 

Laudo tamen. Jxrv. Sat. iii. i. 

Tho' griev'd at the departure of my friend. 
His purpose of retiring I commend. 

I BELIEVE most people begin the world with a resolution to 
withdraw from it into a serious kind of solitude or retirement 
when they have made themselves easy in it. Our happiness is, 
that we find out some excuse or other for deferring such our good 
resolutions until oiu" intended retreat is cut off by death. But 
among all kinds of people there are none who are so hard to part 
with the world as those who are grown old in the heaping up of 
riches. Their minds are so warped with their constant attention 
to gain, that it is very difl&cult for them to give their souls another 
bent, and convert them towards those objects, which, though they 
are proper for every stage of life, are so more especially for the last. 

293 



THE SPECTATOR 

Horace describes an old usurer as so charmed with the pleasures of 
a country life , that in order to make a purchase he called in all his 
money; but what was the event of it? Why in a very few days 
after he put i out again. I am engaged in this series of thought 
by a discourse which I had last week with my worthy friend Sir 
Andrew Freeport, a man of so much natural eloquence, good sense, 
and probity of mind, that I always hear him with a particular 
pleasure. As we were sitting together, being the sole remaining 
members of our club. Sir Andrew gave me an account of the many 
busy scenes of life in which he had been engaged, and at the same 
time reckoned up to me abundance of those lucky hits, which at 
another time he would have called pieces of good fortune; but in 
the temper of mind he was then he termed them mercies, favours 
of Providence, and blessings upon an honest industry. "Now," 
says he, "you must know, my good friend, I am so used to consider 
myself as creditor and debtor, that I often state my accoimts after 
the same manner with regard to heaven and my own soul. In this 
case, when I look upon the debtor side, I find such innumerable 
articles, that I want arithmetic to cast them up; but when I look 
upon the creditor side, I find litlle more than blank paper. Now, 
though I am very well satisfied that it is not in my power to balance 
accounts with my Maker, I am resolved however to turn all my 
future endeavours that way. You must not therefore be surprised, 
my friend, if you hear that I am betaking myself to a more thought- 
ful kind of life, and if I meet you no more in this place." 

I could not but approve so good a resolution, notwithstanding 
the loss I shall suffer by it. Sir Andrew has since explained him- 
self to me more at large in the following letter, which is just come 
to my hands : — 

" Good Mr. Spectator, — Notwithstanding my friends at 
the club have always rallied me when I have talked of retiring 
from business, and repeated to me one of my own sayings, 
that 'a merchant has never enough until he has got a little 
more'; I can now inform you, that there is one in the world 
who thinks he has enough, and is determined to pass the 
remainder of his life in the enjoyment of what he has. You 
know me so well, that I need not tell you, I mean, by the enjoy- 
ment of my possessions, the making of them useful to the public. 
As the greatest part of my estate has been hitherto of an un- 
294 



THE SPECTATOR 

steady and volatile nature, either tost upon seas or fluctuating in 
funds, it is now fixed and settled in substantial acres and tenements. 
I have removed it from the uncertainty of stocks, winds, and waves, 
and disposed of it in a considerable purchase. This will give me 
great opportimity of being charitable in my way, that is, in setting 
my poor neighbours to work, and giving them a comfortable sub- 
sistence out of their own industry. My gardens, my fish-ponds, 
my arable and pasture grounds, shall be my several hospitals, or 
rather work-houses, in which I propose to maintain a great many 
indigent persons, who are now starving in my neighbourhood. I 
have got a fine spread of improveable lands, and in my own 
thoughts am already ploughing up some of them, fencing others, 
planting woods, and draining marshes. In fine, as I have my share 
in the surface of this island, I am resolved to make it as beautiful 
a spot as any in her Majesty's dominions; at least there is not an 
inch of it which shall not be cultivated to the best advantage, and 
do its utmost for its owner. As in my mercantile employment I 
so disposed of my affairs, that, from whatever comer of the com- 
pass the wind blew, it was bringing home one or other of my ships, 
I hope as a husbandman to contrive it so, that not a shower of rain, 
or a glimpse of sunshine, shall fall upon my estate without bettering 
some part of it, and contributing to the products of the season. 
You know it has been hitherto my opinion of life, that it is thrown 
away when it is not some way useful to others. But when I am 
riding out by myself, m the fresh air on the open heath that lies by 
my house, I find several other thoughts growing up in me. I am 
now of opinion, that a man of my age may find business enough on 
himself, by setting his mind in order, preparing it for another 
world, and reconciling it to the thoughts of death. I must there- 
fore acquaint you, that besides those usual methods of charity, of 
which I have before spoken, I am at this very instant finding out a 
convenient place where I may build an alms-house, which I intend 
to endow very handsomely for a dozen superannuated husband- 
men. It will be a great pleasure to me to say my prayers twice a 
day with men of my own years, who all of them, as well as myself, 
may have their thoughts taken up how they shall die, rather than 
how they shall live. I remember an excellent saying that I learned 
at school, f,nis coronal opus. You know best whether it be in 
Virgil or in Horace; it is my business to apply it. If your affairs 
will permit you to take the country air with me sometimes, you 

295 



THE SPECTATOR 

shall fiiid an apartment fitted up for you, and shall be every day 
entertained with beef or mutton of my own feeoing, fish out of my 
own ponds, and fruit out of my own gardens. You shall have free 
egress and regress about my house, without having any questions 
asked you; and, in a word, such a hearty welcome as you may 
expect from 

"Your most sincere friend and humble servant, 

"Andrev^t Freeport." 



296 



STERNE AND GOLDSMITH 



STERNE AND GOLDSMITH 



From THACKERAY'S "ENGLISH HUMORISTS' 



ROGER STERNE, Sterne's father, was the second son of a 
numerous race, descendants of Richard Sterne, Archbishop 
of York, in the reign of James II.; and children of Simon Sterne 
and Mary Jaques, his wife, heiress of Elvington, near York. Roger 
was a lieutenant in Handyside's regiment, and engaged in Flanders 
in Queen Anne's wars. He married the daughter of a noted sutler 
— "N. B., he was in debt to him," his son writes, pursuing the pa- 
ternal biography — and marched through the world with this com- 
panion ; she following the regiment and bringing many children to 
poor Roger Sterne. The captain was an irascible but kind and 
simple Httle man, Sterne says, and informs us that his sire was run 
through the body at Gibraltar, by a brother officer, in a duel which 
arose out of a dispute about a goose. Roger never entirely recovered 
from the effects of this rencontre, but died presently at Jamaica, 
whither he had followed the drum. 

Laurence, his second child, was bom at Clonmel, in Ireland, in 
1 7 13, and travelled, for the first ten years of his life, on his father's 
march, from barrack to transport, from Ireland to England. 

One relative of his mother's took her and her family under shelter 
for ten months at Mullingar: another collateral descendant of the 
Archbishop's housed them for a year at his castle near Carrickfer- 
gus. Larry Sterne was put to school at Halifax in England, finally 
was adopted by his kinsman at Elvington, and parted company with 
his father, the Captain, who marched on his path of life till he met 
the fatal goose, which closed his career. The most picturesque and 
delightful parts of Laurence Sterne's writings, we owe to his recol- 
lections of the mihtary life. Trim's montero cap, and Le Fevre's 
sword, and dear Uncle Toby's roquelaure, are doubtless reminis- 
cences of the boy, who had Uved with the followers of William and 
Alarlborough, and had beat time with his little feet to the fifes of 
299 



STERNE AND GOLDSMITH 

Ramillies in Dublin barrack-yard, or played with the torn flags and 
halberds of Malplaquet on the parade-ground at Clonmel. 

Laurence remained at Halifax school till he was eighteen years 
old. His wit and cleverness appear to have acquired the respect of 
his master here; for when the usher whipped Laurence for writing 
his name on the newly whitewashed schoolroom ceiling, the peda- 
gogue in chief rebuked the understrapper, and said that the name 
should never be effaced, for Sterne was a boy of genius, and would 
come to preferment. 

His cousin, the Squire of Elvington, sent Sterne to Jesus College, 
Cambridge, where he remained five years, and taking orders, got, 
through his uncle's interest, the Hving of Sutton and the prebendary 
of York. Through his wife's connections, he got the living of Still- 
ington. He married her in 1741; having ardently courted the 
yovmg lady for some years previously. It was not until the young 
lady fancied herself dying, that she made Sterne acquainted with 
the extent of her liking for him. One evening when he was sitting 
with her, with an almost broken heart to see her so ill (the Rev. Mr. 
Sterne's heart was a good deal broken in the course of his Ufe), she 
said — " My dear Laurey, I never can be yours, for I verily believe 
I have not long to Hve ; but I have left you every shilling of my for- 
tune:" a generosity which overpowered Sterne. She recovered: 
and so they were married, and grew heartily tired of each other be- 
fore many years were over. "Nescio quid est materia cum me," 
Sterne writes to one of his friends (in dog- La tin, and very sad dog- 
Latin too) ; " sed sum fatigatus et segrotus de mea uxore plus quam 
unquam:" which means, I am sorry to say, "I don't know what is 
the matter with me: but I am more tired and sick of my wife than 
ever." 

This to be sure was five-and-twenty years after Laurey had 
been overcome by her generosity and she by Laurey's love. Then 
he wrote to her of the delights of marriage, saying, "We will be 
merry and as innocent as our first parents in Paradise, before the 
arch-fiend entered that indescribable scene. The kindest affections 
will have room to expand in oiu- retirement : let the human tempest 
and hurricane rage at a distance, the desolation is beyond the horizon 
of peace. My L. has seen a polyanthus blow in December? — 
Some friendly wall has sheltered it from the biting wind. No 
planetary influence shall reach us, but that which presides and 
cherishes the sweetest flowers. The gloomy family of care and 
300 



STERNE AND GOLDSMITH 

distrust shall be banished from our dwelling, guarded by thy kind 
and tutelar deity. We will sing our choral songs of gratitude and 
rejoice to the end of our pilgrimage. Adieu, my L. Return to 
one who languishes for thy society! — As I take up my pen, my poor 
pulse quickens, my pale face glows, and tears are trickHng down on 
my paper as I trace the word L." 

And it is about this woman, with whom he finds no fault but that 
she bores him, that our philanthropist writes, "Sum fatigatus et 
aegrotus " — Sum mortaliter in amore with somebody else ! That 
fine flower of love, that polyanthus over which Sterne snivelled so 
many tears, could not last for a quarter of a century! 

Or rather it could not be expected that a gentleman with such a 
fountain at command should keep it to arroser one homely old lady, 
when a score of younger and prettier people might be refreshed from 
the same gushing source. It was in December, 1767, that the Rev. 
Laurence Sterne, the famous Shandean, the charming Yorick, the 
delight of the fashionable world, the delicious divine, for whose 
sermons the whole polite world was subscribing, the occupier of 
Rabelais's easy chair, only fresh stuffed and more elegant than when 
in possession of the cynical old curate of Meudon, — the more than 
rival of the Dean of St. Patrick's, wrote the above-quoted respect- 
able letter to his friend in London : and it was in April of the same 
year that he was pouring out his fond heart to Mrs. Elizabeth Draper, 
wife of "Daniel Draper, Esq., Councillor of Bombay, and, in 1775, 
chief of the factory of Surat — a gentleman very much respected in 
that quarter of the globe." 

"I got thy letter last night, Eliza, Sterne writes, "on my return 
from Lord Bathurst's, where I dined " — (the letter has this merit 
in it, that it contains a pleasant reminiscence of better men than 
Sterne, and introduces us to a portrait of a kind old gentleman) — 
"I got thy letter last night, Eliza, on my return from Lord Bath- 
urst's; and where I was heard - — as I talked of thee an hour within 
intermission — with so much pleasure and attention, that the good 
old Lord toasted your health three different times; and now he is in 
his 85th year, says he hopes to live long enough to be introduced as 
a friend to my fair Indian disciple, and to see her eclipse all other 
Nabobesses as much in wealth as she does already in exterior and, 
what is far better" (for Sterne is nothing without his morality), 
"in interior merit. This nobleman is an old friend of mine. You 
know he was always the protector of men of wit and genius, and has 
301 



STERNE AND GOLDSMITH 

had those of the last century, Addison, Steele, Pope, Swift, Prior, 
&c., always at his table. The manner in which his notice began of 
me was as singular as it was polite. He came up to me one day as 
I was at the Princess of Wales's court, and said, 'I want to know 
you, Mr. Sterne, but it is fit you also should know who it is that 
wishes this pleasure. You have heard of an old Lord Bathurst, 
of whom your Popes and Swifts have sung and spoken so much? 
I have lived my life with geniuses of that cast; but have survived 
them; and, despairing ever to find their equals, it is some years 
since I have shut up my books and closed my accounts; but you 
have kindled a desire in me of opening them once more before I die : 
which I now do: so go home and dine with me.' This nobleman, 
I say, is a prodigy, for he has all the wit and promptness of a man 
of thirty; a disposition to be pleased, and a power to please others, 
beyond whatever I knew: added to which a man of learning, 
courtesy, and feeling. 

"He heard me talk of thee, Eliza, with uncommon satisfaction — 
for there was only a third person, and of sensibility, with us: and a 
most sentimental afternoon till nine o'clock have we passed ! But 
thou, Eliza, wert the star that conducted and enlivened the dis- 
coiu-se! And when I talked not of thee, still didst thou fill my 
mind, and warm every thought I uttered, for I am not ashamed to 
acknowledge I greatly miss thee. Best of all good girls! — the 
sufferings I have sustained all night in consequence of thine, Eliza, 

are beyond the power of words And so thou hast fixed 

thy Bramin's portrait over thy writing-desk, and will consult it in 
all doubts and difficulties? — grateful and good girl! Yorick 
smiles contentedly over all thou dost: his picture does not do justice 
to his own complacency. I am glad your shipmates are friendly 
beings " (Eliza was at Deal, going back to the Councillor at Bombay, 
and indeed it was high time she should be off). "You could least 
dispense with what is contrary to your own nature, which is soft and 
gentle, Ehza; it would civilize savages — though pity were it thou 
should 'st be tainted with the office. Write to me, my child, thy 
delicious letters. Let them speak the easy carelessness of a heart 
that opens itself anyhow, everyhow. Such, Eliza, I write to thee!" 
(The artless rogue, of course he did !) " And so I shoiild ever love 
thee, most artlessly, most affectionately, if Providence permitted 
thy residence in the same section of the globe : for I am all that honor 
and affection can make me 'Thy Bramin.'" 
302 



STERNE AND GOLDSMITH 

The Bramin continues addressing Mrs. Draper, until the depar- 
ture of the "Earl of Chatham" Indiaman from Deal, on the 2nd of 
April, 1767. He is amiably anxious about the fresh paint for 
Ehza's cabin; he is uncommonly soUcitous about her companions 
on board: "I fear the best of your shipmates are only genteel by 
comparison with the contrasted crew with which thou beholdest 
them. So was — you know who — from the same fallacy which 
was put upon your judgment when — but I will not mortify you!" 

"You know who" was, of course, Daniel Draper, Esq., of 
Bombay — a gentleman very much respected in that quarter of 
the globe, and about whose probable health our worthy Bramin 
WTites with dehghtful candor: — 

"I honor you, Eliza, for keeping secret some things which, if 
explained, had been a panegjTic on yourself. There is a dignity 
in venerable affliction which will not allow it to appeal to the world 
for pity or redress. Well have you supported that character, my 
amiable, my philosophic friend! And, indeed, I begin to think 
you have as many virtues as my Uncle Toby's widow. Talking of 
widows — pray, EHza, if ever you are such, do not think of giving 
yourself to some wealthy Nabob, because I design to marry you 
myself. My wife cannot live long, and I know not the woman I 
should Hke so well for her substitute as yourself. 'Tis true I am 
ninety-five in constitution, and you but twenty-five; but what I 
want in youth, I will make up in wit and good -humour. Not 
Swift so loved his Stella, Scarron his Main ten on, or Waller his 
Saccharissa. Tell me, in answer to this, that you approve and 
honor the proposal." 

Approve and honor the proposal ! The coward was writing gay 
letters to his friends this while, with sneering allusions to this poor 
foolish Bramine. Her ship was not out of the Dowtis, and the 
charming Sterne was at the " Mount Coffee-house," with a sheet of 
gilt-edged paper before him, offering that precious treasure his 

heart to Lady P , asking whether it gave her pleasure to see 

him unhappy? whether it added to her triumph that her eyes and 
lips had turned a man into a fool? — quoting the Lord's Prayer, 
with a horrible baseness of blasphemy, as a proof that he had 
desired not to be led into temptation, and swearing himself the most 
tender and sincere fool in the world. It was from his home at 
Coxwould that he wrote the Latin letter, which, I suppose, he was 
ashamed to put into Enghsh. I find in my copy of the Letters, 

303 



STERNE AND GOLDSMITH 

that there is a note of I can't call it admiration, at Letter 112, 
which seems to announce that there was a No. 3 to whom the 
wretched worn out old scamp was paying his addresses; and the 
year after, having come back to his lodgings in Bond Street, with 
his "Sentimental Journey" to launch upon the town, eager as ever 
for praise and pleasure — as vain, as wicked, as witty, as false as 
he had ever been — death at length seized the feeble wretch, and, 
on the i8th of March, 1768, that "bale of cadaverous goods," as 
he calls his body, was consigned to Pluto. In his last letter there 
is one sign of grace — the real aflfection with which he entreats a 
friend to be a guardian to his daughter Lydia. All his letters to 
her are artless, kind, affectionate, and not sentimental; as a hundred 
pages in his writings are beautiful, and full, not of surprising 
humor merely, but of genuine love and kindness. A perilous trade, 
indeed, is that of a man who has to bring his tears and laughter, 
his recollections, his personal griefs and joys, his private thoughts 
and feehngs to market, to write them on paper, and sell them for 
money. Does he exaggerate his grief, so as to get his reader's 
pity for a false sensibiUty? feign indignation, so as to estabUsh a 
character for virtue? elaborate repartees, so that he may pass for 
a wit ? steal from other authors, and put down the theft to the credit 
side of his own reputation for ingenuity and learning ? feign origi- 
nahty? affect benevolence or misanthropy? appeal to the gallery 
gods with claptraps and vulgar baits to catch applause ? 

How much of the paint and emphasis is necessary for the fair 
business of the stage, and how much of the rant and rouge is put 
on for the vanity of the actor. His audience trusts him: can he 
trust himself? How much was deUberate calculation and impos- 
ture — how much was false sensibihty — and how much true feel- 
ing? Where did the he begin, and did he know where? and where 
did the truth end in the art and scheme of this man of genius, this 
actor, this quack? Some time since, I was in the company of a 
French actor, who began after dinner, and at his own request, to 
sing French songs of the sort called des chansons grivoises, and which 
he performed admirably, and to the dissatisfaction of most persons 
present. Having finished these, he commenced a sentimental 
ballad — it was so charmingly sung, that it touched all persons 
present, and especially the singer himself, whose voice trembled, 
whose eyes filled with emotion, and who was snivelling and weeping 
quite genuine tears by the time his own ditty was over. I suppose 

304 



STERNE AND GOLDSMITH 

Sterne had this artistical sensibility; he used to blubber perpetually 
in his study, and finding his tears infectious, and that they brought 
liim a great popularity, he exercised the lucrative gift of weeping: 
he utilized it, and cried on every occasion. I own that I don't value 
or respect much the cheap dribble of those fountains. He fatigues 
me with his perpetual disquiet and his uneasy appeals to my risible 
or sentimental faculties. He is always looking in my face, watching 
his effect, uncertain whether I think him an impostor or not; 
posture-making, coaxing, and imploring me. " See what sensibility 
I have — own now that I'm very clever — do cry now, you can't resist 
this." The humor of Swift and Rabelais, whom he pretended to 
succeed, poured from them as naturally as song does from a bird; 
they lose no manly dignity with it, but laugh their hearty great 
laugh out of their broad chests as nature bade them. But this 
man — who can make you laugh, who can make you cry too — 
never lets his reader alone, or will permit his audience repose: 
when you are quiet, he fancies he must rouse you, and turns over 
head and heels, or sidles up and whispers a nasty story. The man 
is a great jester, not a great humorist. He goes to work systemati- 
cally and of cold blood ; paints his face, puts on his ruff and motley 
clothes, and lays down his carpet and tumbles on it. 

For instance, take the "Sentimental loumey," and see in the 
writer the deliberate propensity to make points and seek applause. 
He gets to " Dessein's Hotel," he wants a carriage to travel to Paris, 
he goes to the inn-yard, and begins what the actors call "business" 
at once. There is that Uttle carriage (the desohligeante). "Four 
months had elapsed since it had finished its career of Europe in the 
comer of Monsieur Dessein's coach-yard, and having salUed out 
thence but a vamped-up business at first, though it had been twice 
taken to pieces on Mount Sennis, it had not profited much by its 
adventures, but by none so httle as the standing so many months 
unpitied in the corner of Monsieur Dessein's coach-yard. Much, 
indeed, was not to be said for it — but something might — and 
when a few words will rescue misery out of her distress, I hate the 
man who can be a churl of them." 

Le tour est fait! Paillasse has tumbled! Paillasse has jumped 
over the desohligeante, cleared it, hood and all, and bows to the 
noble company. Does anybody believe that this is a real Senti- 
ment ? that this luxury of generosity, this gallant rescue of Misery — 
out of an old cab, is genuine feeling ? It is as genuine as the virtu- 



STERXE AXD GOLDSMITH 

ous oratory of Jo^^pti Surface when he begins, "The man who," 
&c. &c.. and wishes to pass off for a saint with his credulous 
good-hiunored dupes. 

Our friend purchases the carriage: after turning that notorious 
old monk to good account, and effecting (like a soft and good- 
narurevi Paillasse as he was. and very free wiih his money when he 
had it.) an exchange of snuff-boxes with the old Franciscan, jogs 
out of Calais; sets down in immense figures on the credit side of 
his account the sous he gi\-es away to the Montreuil beggars; and 
at Xampont, gets out of the chaise and whimpers over that famous 
dead donkey, for which any sentimentaHst may cry who will. It 
is agreeably and skihully done — that dead jackass: like M. de 
Soubise's cook on the campaign, Steme dresses it, and serves it up 
quite tender and viixh a very piquante sauce. But tears and fine 
feelings, and a white pocket-handkerchief, and a funeral sermon, 
and horses and feathers, and a procession of mutes, and a hearse 
with a dead donkey inside I Psha. mountebank I I'll not give thee 
one penny more for that trick, donkey and all! 

This donkey had appeared once before with signal effect. In 
1765. three years before the publication of the "Sentimental Jour- 
ney,'' the seventh and eight volumes of ''Tristram Shandy" were 
given to the world, and the famous Lyons donkey makes his entr}' 
in those volvunes (pp. 315. 316): — 

" "Twas by a poor ass, with a couple of large panniers at his l>ack, 
who had just turned in to collect eleemosynary tumip-tops and 
cabbage-lea^"es, and stood dubious, with his two forefeet at the 
inside of the threshold, and with his two hinder feet towards the 
street, as not knowing ver\- well whether he was to go in or no. 

" Now 'tis an animal (be in what hurry I may) I cannot bear to 
strike : there is a patient endurance of suffering wrote so imaffectedly 
in his looks and carriage which pleads so mightily for him, that it 
always disarms me, and to that degree that I do not like to speak 
unkindly to him: on the contrary, meet him where I will, whether 
in town or country-, in cart or under panniers, whether in liberty 
or bondage, I have ever something ci%-il to say to him on my part ; 
and, as one word begets another (if he has as little to do as I), I 
generally fall into conversation with him; and siu^ly never is my 
imagination so busy as in framing responses from the etchings 
of his countenance; and where those earn- me not deep enough, in 
fl\-ing from mv own heart into his, and seeing what is natural for 



STERNE AND GOLDSMITH 

an ass to think — as well as a man upon the occasion. In truth, 
it is the only creature of all the classes of beings below me with 
whom I can do this. . . . With an ass I can commune forever. 

"'Come, Honesty,' said I, seeing it was impracticable to pass 
betwixt him and the gate, 'art thou for coming in or going out?' 

"The ass twisted his head round to look up the street. 

"'Well!' replied I, 'we'll wait a minute for thy driver.' 

"He turned his head thoughtful about, and looked wistfully the 
opposite way. 

"'I understand thee perfectly,' answered I: 'if thou takest a 
wrong step in this affair, he will cudgel thee to death. Well! 
a minute is but a minute ; and if it saves a fellow-creature a drub- 
bing, it shall not be set down as ill spent.' 

" He was eating the stem of an artichoke as this discourse went 
on, and, in the little peevish contentions between hunger and un- 
savoriness, had dropped it out of his mouth, half a dozen times, 
and had picked it up again. 'God help thee. Jack!' said I, 'thou 
hast a bitter breakfast on't — and many a bitter day's labor, and 
many a bitter blow, I fear, for its wages! 'Tis all, all bitterness 
to thee — whatever life is to others ! And now thy mouth if one 
knew the truth of it, is as bitter, I dare say, as soot ' (for he had cast 
aside the stem), 'and thou hast not a friend perhaps in all this 
world that will give thee a macaroon.' In saying this, I pulled 
out a paper of 'em, which I had just bought, and gave him erne; — 
and, at this moment that I am telling it, my heart smites me that 
there was more of pleasantry in the conceit of seeing how an ass 
would eat a macaroon, than of benevolence in giving him one, 
which presided in the act. 

"When the ass had eaten his macaroon, I pressed him to come 
in. The poor beast was heavy leaded — his legs seemed to tremble 
under him — he hung rather backwards, and, as I pulled at his 
halter, it broke in my hand. He looked up pensive in my face: 
' Don't thrash me with it; but if you will you may.' 'If I do,' said 
I, 'I'U be d ." 

A critic who refuses to see in this charming description wit, hu- 
mor, pathos, a kind nature speaking, and a real sentiment, must be 
hard indeed to move and to please. A page or two farther we come 
to a description not less beautiful — a landscape and figures, deli- 
ciously painted by one who had the keenest enjoyment and the most 
tremulous sensibility: — 



STERNE AND GOLDSMITH 

" 'Twas in the road between Nismes and Lunel, where is the best 
Muscatto wine in all France: the sun was set, they had done their 
work: the nymphs had tied up their hair afresh, and the swains were 
preparing for a carousal. My mule made a dead point, ' 'Tis the 
pipe and tambourine,' said I — 'I never will argue a point with one 
of your family as long as I live ; ' so leaping off his back, and kicking 
off one boot into this ditch and t'other into that, ' I'll take a dance,' 
said I, ' so stay you here.' 

" A sunburnt daughter of labor rose up from the group to meet 
me as I advanced towards them; her hair, which was of a dark 
chestnut approaching to a black, was tied up in a knot, all but a 
single tress. 

'"We want a cavaUer,' said she, holding out both her hands, as 
if to offer them. 'And a cavaUer you shall have,' said I, taking 
hold of both of them. ' We could not have done without you,' said 
she, letting go one hand, with self-taught politeness, and leading me 
up with the other. 

" A lame youth, whom Apollo had recompensed with a pipe, and 
to which he had added a tambourine of his own accord, ran sweetly 
over the prelude, as he sat upon the bank. 'Tie me up this tress 
instantly,' said Nannette, putting a piece of string into my hand. 
It taught me to forget I was a stranger. The whole knot fell down 
— we had been seven years acquainted. The youth struck the 
note upon the tambourine, his pipe followed, and off we bounded. 

" The sister of the youth — who had stolen her voice from heaven 
— sang alternately with her brother. 'Twas a Gascoigne rounde- 
lay: Viva la joia, fidon la tristessa.^ The nymphs joined in unison, 
and their swains an octave below them. 

" Viva la joia was in Nannette's lips, viva la joia in her eyes. A 
transient spark of amity shot across the space betwixt us. She 
looked amiable. Why could I not live and end my days thus? 
' Just Disposer of our joys and sorrows!' cried I, 'why could not a 
man sit down in the lap of content here, and dance, and sing, and 
say his prayers, and go to heaven with this nut-brown maid ? ' Ca- 
priciously did she bend her head on one side, and dance up insidious. 
' Then 'tis time to dance off,' quoth I." 

And with this pretty dance and chorus, the volume artfully con- 
cludes. Even here one can't give the whole description. There is 
not a page in Sterne's writing but has something that were better 
away, a latent corruption — a hint as of an impure presence. 
308 



STERNE AND GOLDSMITH 

Some of that dreary double entendre may be attributed to freer 
times and manners than ours, but not all. The foul Satyr's eyes 
leer out of the leaves constantly: the last words the famous author 
wrote were bad and wicked — the last Unes the poor stricken wretch 
penned were for pity and pardon. I think of these past writers and 
of one who lives amongst us now, and am grateful for the innocent 
laughter and the sweet and unsullied page which the author of 
" David Copperfield " gives to my children. 

" Jete sur cette boule, 
Laid, chetif et souffrant; 
Etouffe dans la foule, 
Faute d'etre assez grand: 

"Une plaiiite touchante 
De ma bouche sortit. 
Le bon Dieu me dit: Chante, 
Chante, pauvre petit! 

"Chanter, ou Je m'abuse, 
Est ma tache ici bas. 
Toux ceux qu'ainsi j 'amuse, 
Ne m'aimeront-ils pas?" 

In those charming lines of Beranger, one may fancy described 
the career, the sufferings, the genius, the gentle nature of Gold- 
smith, and the esteem in which we hold him. Who, of the miUions 
whom he has amused, doesn't love him ? To be the most beloved 
of English writers, what a title that is for a man! A wild youth, 
wayward, but full of tenderness and affection, quits the country vil- 
lage where his boyhood has been passed in happy musing, in idle 
shelter, in fond longing to see the great world out of doors, and 
achieve name and fortune; and after years of dire struggle, and 
neglect and poverty, his heart turning back as fondly to his native 
place as it had longed eagerly for change when sheltered there, he 
writes a book and a poem, full of the recollections and feelings of 
home: he paints the friends and scenes of his youth, and peoples 
Auburn and Wakefield with remembrances of Lissoy. Wander 
he must, but he carries away a home-relic with him, and dies with 
it on his breast. His nature is truant; in repose it longs for change: 
as on the journey it looks back for friends and quiet. He passes to- 
day in building an air-castle for to-morrow, or in writing yesterday's 
elegy; and he would fly away this hour, but that a cage and neces- 
309 



STERNE AND GOLDSxMITH 

sity keep him. What is the charm of his verse, of his style, and hu- 
mor? His sweet regrets, his deHcate compassion, his soft smile, 
his tremulous sympathy, the weakness which he owns ? Your love 
for him is half pity. You come hot and tired from the day's battle, 
and this sweet minstrel sings to you. WTio could harm the kind 
vagrant harper ? Whom did he ever hurt ? He carries no weapon, 
save the harp on which he plays to you; and with which he delights 
great and humble, young and old, the captains in the tents, or the 
soldiers round the fire, or the women and children in the villages, at 
whose porches he stops and sings his simple songs of love and beauty. 
With that sweet story of the "Vicar of Wakefield " he has found en- 
try into every castle and every hamlet in Europe. Not one of us, 
however busy or hard, but once or twice in our lives has passed an 
evening with him, and undergone the charm of his deUghtful music. 
Goldsmith's father was no doubt the good Doctor Primrose, 
whom we all of us know. Swift was yet alive, when the little Oliver 
was born at Pallas, or Pallasmore, in the county of Longford, in 
Ireland. In 1730, two years after the child's birth, Charles Gold- 
smith removed his family to Lissoy, in the county Westmeath, that 
sweet "Auburn" which every person who hears me has seen in 
fancy. Here the kind parson* brought up his eight children; and 
loving all the world, as his son says, fancied all the world loved 
him. He had a crowd of poor dependants besides those hungry 
children. He kept an open table; round which sat flatterers and 
poor friends, who laughed at the honest rector's many jokes, and 

* "At church, with meek and unaffected grace, 
His looks adorn 'd the venerable place; 
Truth from his lips prevail'd with double sway, 
And fools who came to scoff remain'd to pray. 
The service past, around the pious man, 
With steady zeal each honest rustic ran; 
E'en children follow'd with endearing wile, 
And pluck'd his gown to share the good man's smile. 
His ready smile a parent's warmth exprest, 
Their welfare pleased him, and their cares distrest; 
To them his heart, his love, his griefs were given, 
But all his serious thoughts had rest in Heaven. 
As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form, 
Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm. 
Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread, 
Eternal sunshine settles on its head." 

The Deserted Village. 

310 



STERNE AND GOLDSMITH 

ate the produce of his seventy acres of farm. Those who have seen 
an Irish house in the present day can fancy that one of Lissoy. 
The old beggar still has his allotted comer by the kitchen turf; the 
maimed old soldier still gets his potatoes and buttermilk; the poor 
cottier still asks his honor's charity, and prays God bless his rever- 
ence for the sixpence : the ragged pensioner still takes his place by 
right and sufferance. There's still a crowd in the kitchen, and a 
crowd round the parlor-table, profusion, confusion, kindness, pov- 
erty. If an Irishman comes to London to make his fortime, he 
has a half-dozen of Irish dependants who take a percentage of his 
earnings. The good Charles Goldsmith left but little provision 
for his hungry race when death summoned him: and one of his 
daughters being engaged to a Squire of rather superior dignity, 
Charles Goldsmith impoverished the rest of his family to provide 
the girl with a dowry. 

The small-pox, which scourged all Europe at that time, and 
ravaged the roses off the cheeks of half the world, fell foul of poor 
little Oliver's face, when the child was eight years old, and left him 
scarred and disfigured for his life. An old woman in his father's 
village taught him his letters, and pronounced him a dunce: Paddy 
Byrne, the hedge-schoolmaster, took him in hand; and from Paddy 
Byrne, he was transmitted to a clergyman at Elphin. When a 
child was sent to school in those days, the classic phrase was that 
he was placed under Mr. So-and-so's jerule. Poor little ancestors ! 
It is hard to think how ruthlessly you were birched ; and how much 
of needless whipping and tears our small forefathers had to undergo ! 
A relative — kind uncle Contarine, took the main charge of little 
Noll; who went through his school-days righteously doing as little 
work as he could: robbing orchards, playing at ball, and making 
his pocket-money fly about whenever fortune sent it to him. Every- 
body knows the story of that famous " Mistake of a Night," when 
the young schoolboy, provided with a guinea and a nag, rode up 
to the "best house" in Ardagh, called for the landlord's company 
over a bottle of wine at supper, and for a hot cake for breakfast 
in the morning; and found, when he asked for the bill, that the best 
house was Squire Featherstone's, and not the inn for which he mis- 
took it. Who does not know every story about Goldsmith ? That 
is a delightful and fantastic picture of the child dancing and caper- 
ing about in the kitchen at home, when the old fiddler gibed at him 
for his ugliness, and called him ^Esop; and little Noll made his 

311 



STERNE AND GOLDSMITH 

repartee of " Heralds proclaim aloud this saying — See ^sop 
dancing and his monkey playing." One can fancy a queer pitiful 
look of humor and appeal upon that little scarred face — the 
funny little dancing figure, the funny little brogue. In his life, 
and his writings, which are the honest expression of it, he is con- 
stantly bewailing that homely face and person; anon, he surveys 
them in the glass ruefully; and presently assumes the most comical 
dignity. He likes to deck out his little person in splendor and 
fine colors. He presented himself to be examined for ordination 
in a pair of scarlet breeches, and said honestly that he did not like 
to go into the church, because he was fond of colored clothes. 
WTien he tried to practise as a doctor, he got by hook or by crook 
a black velvet suit, and looked as big and grand as he could, and 
kept his hat over a patch on the old coat : in better days he bloomed 
out in plum-color, in blue silk, and in new velvet. For some of 
those splendors the heirs and assignees of Mr. Filby, the tailor, 
have never been paid to this day: perhaps the kind tailor and his 
creditor have met and settled the little account in Hades. 

They showed imtil lately a window at Trinity College, Dublin, 
on which the name of O. Goldsmith was engraved with a diamond. 
Whose diamond was it? Not the young sizar's, who made but a 
poor figure in that place of learning. He was idle, penniless, and 
fond of pleasure: he learned his way early to the pawnbroker's 
shop. He wrote ballads, they say, for the street-singers, who paid 
him a crown for a poem: and his pleasure was to steal out at night 
and hear his verses sung. He was chastised by his tutor for giving 
a dance in his rooms, and took the box on the ear so much to heart, 
that he packed up his all, pawned his books and little property, and 
disappeared from college and family. He said he intended to go 
to America, but when his money was spent, the young prodigal 
came home ruefully, and the good folks there killed their calf — it 
was but a lean one — and welcomed him back. 

After college, he hung about his mother's house, and lived for 
some years the life of a buckeen — passed a month with this relation 
and that, a year with one patron, a great deal of time at the public- 
house. Tired of this life, it was resolved that he should go to 
London, and study at the Temple ; but he got no farther on the road 
to London and the woolsack than Dublin, where he gambled away 
the fifty pounds given to him for his outfit, and whence he rettimed 
to the indefatigable forgiveness of home. Then he determined to 
312 



STERNE AND GOLDSMITH 

be a doctor, and uncle Contarine helped him to a couple of years at 
Edmburgh. Then from Edinburgh he felt that he ought to hear the 
famous professors of Leyden and Paris, and wrote most amusing 
pompous letters to his imcle about the great Farheim, Du Petit, 
and Duhamel du Monceau, whose lectures he proposed to follow. 
If imcle Contarine believed those letters — if Oliver's mother 
believed that story which the youth related of his going to Cork, 
with the purpose of embarking for America, of his having paid his 
passage -money, and having sent his kit on board; of the anonymous 
captain sailing away with OUver's valuable luggage, in a nameless 
ship, never to return ; if uncle Contarine and the mother at Bally- 
mahon believed his stories, they must have been a very simple pair; 
as it was a very simple rogue indeed who cheated them. When the 
lad, after failing in his clerical examination, after failing in his plan 
for studying the law, took leave of these projects and of his parents, 
and set out for Edinburgh, he saw mother, and uncle, and lazy 
Ballymahon, and green native turf, and sparkling river for the last 
time. He was never to look on old Ireland more, and only in fancy 
revisit her. 

"But me not destined such delights to share, 
My prime of life in wandering spent and care, 
Impelled, with steps unceasing, to pursue 
Some fleeting good that mocks me with the view; 
That like the circle bounding earth and skies 
Allures from far, yet, as I follow, flies: 
My fortune leads to traverse realms alone, 
And find no spot of all the world my own." 

I spoke in a former lecture of that high courage which enabled 
Fielding, in spite of disease, remorse, and poverty, always to retain 
a cheerful spirit and to keep his manly benevolence and love of 
truth intact, as if these treasures had been confided to him for the 
pubHc benefit, and he was accountable to posterity for their honor- 
able employ; and a constancy equally happy and admirable I think 
was shown by Goldsmith, whose sweet and friendly nature bloomed 
kindly always in the midst of a life's storm, and rain, and bitter 
weather. The poor fellow was never so friendless but he could 
befriend some one; never so pinched and wretched but he could 
give r f his crust, and speak his word of compassion. If he had but 
his flute left, he could give that, and make the children happy in the 
dreary London court. He could give the coals in that queer coal- 

313 



STERNE AND GOLDSMITH 

scuttle we read of to his poor neighbor: he could give away his 
blankets in college to the poor widow, and warm himself as he best 
might in the feathers: he could pawn his coat to save his landlord 
from gaol: when he was a school-usher he spent his earnings in 
treats for the boys, and the good-natured schoolmaster's wife said 
justly that she ought to keep Mr. Goldsmith's money as well as the 
young gentlemen's. When he met his pupils in later life, nothing 
would satisfy the Doctor but he must treat them still. " Have you 
seen the print of me after Sir Joshua Reynolds?" he asked one of 
his old pupils. "Not seen it? not bought it? Sure, Jack, if your 
picture had been published, I'd not have been without it half an 
hour." His purse and his heart were everybody's, and his friends' 
as much as his own. When he was at the height of his reputation, 
and the Earl of Northumberland, going as Lord Lieutenant to 
Ireland, asked if he could be of any service to Dr. Goldsmith. 
Goldsmith recommended his brother, and not himself, to the great 
man. "My patrons," he gallantly said, "are the booksellers, and 
I want no others." Hard patrons they were, and hard work he 
did; but he did not complain much: if in his early writings some 
bitter words escaped him, some allusions to neglect and poverty, he 
withdrew these expressions when his works were republished, and 
better days seemed to open for him ; and he did not care to complain 
that printer or publisher had overlooked his merit, or left him poor. 
The Court face was turned from honest Oliver, the Comrt patronized 
Beattie ; the fashion did not shine on him — fashion adored Sterne. 
Fashion pronounced Kelly to be the great writer of comedy of his 
day. A little — not ill-humour, but plaintiveness — a little 
betrayal of wounded pride which he showed render him not the 
less amiable. The author of the "Vicar of Wakefield" had a 
right to protest when Newbery kept back the MS. for two years; 
had a right to be a little peevish with Sterne; a little angry when 
Colman's actors declined their parts in his delightful comedy, 
when the manager refused to have a scene painted for it, and 
pronounced its damnation before hearing. He had not the great 
public with him; but he had the noble Johnson, and the admirable 
Reynolds, and the great Gibbon, and the great Burke, and the great 
Fox — friends and admirers illustrious indeed, as famous as those 
who, fifty years before, sat round Pope's table. 

Nobody knows, and I dare say Goldsmith's buoyant temper 
kept no account of all the pains which he endured during the early 

314 



STERNE AND GOLDSMITH 

period of his literary career. Should any man of letters in our day 
have to bear up against such, heaven grant he may come out of the 
period of misfortune with such a pure kind heart as that which 
Goldsmith obstinately bore in his breast. The insults to which he 
had to submit are shocking to read of — slander, contumely, 
vulgar satire, brutal malignity perverting his commonest motives 
and actions; he had his share of these, and one's anger is roused 
at reading of them, as it is at seeing a woman insulted or a child 
assaulted, at the notion that a creature so very gentle and weak, and 
full of love, should have had to suffer so. And he had worse than 
insult to vmdergo — to own to fault and deprecate the anger of 
ruffians. There is a letter of his extant to one Griffiths, a bookseller, 
in which poor Goldsmith is forced to confess that certain books 
sent by Griffiths are in the hands of a friend from whom Goldsmith 
had been forced to borrow money. "He was wild, sir," Johnson 
said, speaking of Goldsmith to Boswell, with his great, wise benev- 
olence and noble mercifulness of heart — " Dr. Goldsmith was wild, 
sir; but he is so no more." Ah! if we pity the good and weak man 
who suffers undeservedly, let us deal very gently with him from 
whom misery extorts not only tears, but shame; let us think humbly 
and charitably of the human nature that suffers so sadly and falls 
so low. WTiose turn may it be to-morrow? What weak heart, 
confident before trial, may not succumb under temptation invinci- 
ble ? Cover the good man who has been vanquished — cover his 
face and pass on. 

For the last half-dozen years of his Hfe Goldsmith was far removed 
from the pressure of any ignoble necessity: and in the receipt, 
indeed, of a pretty large income from the booksellers his patrons. 
Had he lived but a few years more, his public fame would have 
been as great as his private reputation, and he might have enjoyed 
alive a part of that esteem which his country has ever since paid to 
the vivid and versatile genius who has touched on almost every 
subject of literature, and touched nothing that he did not adorn. 
Except in rare instances, a man is known in our profession, and 
esteemed as a skilful workman, years before the lucky hit which 
trebles his usual gains, and stamps him a popular author. In the 
strength of his age, and the dawn of his reputation, having for 
backers and friends the most illustrious Uterary men of his time, 
fame and prosperity might have been in store for Goldsmith, had 
fate so willed it; and, at forty-six had not sudden disease carried 

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STERNE AND GOLDSMITH 

him off. I say prosperity rather than competence, for it is probable 
that no sum could have put order into his affairs or sufficed for his 
irreclaimable habits of dissipation. It must be remembered that he 
owed 2,000^. when he died. " Was ever poet," Johnson asked, " so 
trusted before?" As has been the case with many another good 
fellow of his nation, his life was tracked and his substance wasted 
by crowds of hungry beggars and lazy dependants. If they came 
at a lucky time (and be sure they knew his affairs better than he 
did himself, and watched his pay-day), he gave them of his money: 
if they begged on empty -purse days he gave them his promissory bills: 
or he treated them to a tavern where he had credit ; or he obUged them 
with an order upon honest Mr. Filby for coats, for which he paid 
as long as he could earn, and until the shears of Filby were to cut 
for him no more. Staggering under a load of debt and labor, 
tracked by bailiffs and reproachful creditors, running from a 
hundred poor dependants, whose appeaUng looks were perhaps the 
hardest of all pains for him to bear, devising fevered plans for to- 
morrow, new histories, new comedies, all sorts of new literary 
schemes, flying from all these into seclusion, and out of seclusion 
into pleasure — at last, at five-and-forty, death seized him and 
closed his career. I have been many a time in the chambers in the 
Temple which were his, and passed up the staircase, which Johnson, 
and Burke, and Reynolds trod to see their friend, their poet, their 
kind Goldsmith — the stair on which the poor women sat weeping 
bitterly when they heard that the greatest and most generous of all 
men was dead wdthin the black oak door. Ah, it was a different 
lot from that for which the poor fellow sighed, when he viTOte with 
heart yearning for home those most charming of all fond verses, 
in which he fancies he revisits Auburn — 

"Here, as I take my solitary rounds, 

Amidst thy tangling walks and ruined grounds, 

And, many a year elapsed, return to view 

Where once the cottage stood, the hawthorn grew, 

Remembrance wakes, with all her busy train, 

Swells at my breast, and turns the past to pain. 

"In all my wanderings round this world of care. 
In all my griefs — and God has given my share — 
I still had hopes my latest hours to crown, 
Amidst these humble bowers to lay me down; 
To husband out life's taper at the close, 



STERNE AND GOLDSMITH 

And keep the flame from wasting by repose; 
I still had hopes — for pride attends us still — 
Amidst the swains to show mj' book-learned skill, 
Aroxmd my fire an evening group to draw, 
And tell of all I felt and all I saw; 
And, as a hare, whom hounds and horns pursue. 
Pants to the place from whence at first he flew — 
I still had hopes — my long vexations past, 
Here to return, and die at home at last. 

"O blest retirement, friend to life's decHne! 
Retreats from care that never must be mine — 
How blest is he who crowns, in shades like these, 
A youth of labor with an age of ease; 
Who quits a world where strong temptations try, 
And, since 'tis hard to combat, learns to fly! 
For him no wretches born to work and weep 
Explore the mine or tempt the dangerous deep; 
No surly porter stands in guilty state 
To spurn imploring famine from the gate: 
But on he moves to meet his latter end, 
Angels around befriending virtue's friend; 
Sinks to the grave with unperceived decay, 
Whilst resignation gently slopes the way; 
And all his prospects brightening to the last, 
His heaven commences ere the world be past." 

In these verses, I need not say with what melody, with what 
touching truth, with what exquisite beauty of comparison — as 
indeed in himdreds more pages of the writings of this honest soul - — 
the whole character of the man is told — his humble confession of 
faults and weakness; his pleasant little vanity, and desire that his 
village should admire him; his simple scheme of good in which 
everybody was to be happy — no beggar was to be refused, his dinner 
— nobody in fact was to work much, and he to be the harmless chief 
of the Utopia, and the monarch of the Irish Yvetot. He would 
have told again, and without fear of their failing, those famous jokes 
which had hung fire in London; he would have talked of his great 
friends of the Club — of my Lord Clare and my Lord Bishop, my 
Lord Nugent — sure he knew them intimately, and was hand and 
glove with some of the best men in town — and he would have 
spoken of Johnson and of Burke, and of Sir Joshua who had 
painted him — and he would have told wonderful sly stories of 
Ranelagh and the Pantheon, and the masquerades at Madame Cor- 

317 



STERNE AND GOLDSMITH 

nelis'; and he would have toasted, with a sigh, the Jessamy Bride 

— the lovely Mary Horneck. 

The figure of that charming young lady forms one of the prettiest 
recollections of Goldsmith's life. She and her beautiful sister, 
who married Bunbury,*the graceful and humorous amateur artist 
of those da3'S, when Gilray had but just begun to try his powers, 
were among the kindest and dearest of Goldsmith's many friends, 
cheered and pitied him, travelled abroad with him, made him wel- 
come at their home, and gave him many a pleasant holiday. He 
bought his finest clothes to figure at their country-house at Barton 

— he wrote them droll verses. They loved him, laughed at him, 
played him tricks and made him happy. He asked for a loan from 
Garrick, and Garrick kindly supplied him, to enable him to go to 
Barton: but there were to be no more holidays, and only one brief 
struggle more for poor Goldsmith. A lock of his hair was taken 
from the cofiin and given to the Jessamy Bride. She lived quite 
into our time. Hazlitt saw her an old lady, but beautiful still, in 
Northcote's painting-room, who told the eager critic how proud she 
always was that Goldsmith had admired her. The younger Col- 
man has left a touching reminiscence of him. Vol. i. 63, 64. 

"I was only five years old," he says, "when Goldsmith took me 
on his knee one evening whilst he was drinking coffee with my father, 
and began to play with me, which amiable act I returned, with the 
ingratitude of a peevish brat, by giving him a very smart slap on the 
face : it must have been a tingler, for it left the marks of my spiteful 
paw on his cheek. This infantile outrage was followed by summary 
justice, and I was locked up by my indignant father in an adjoining 
room to undergo solitary imprisonment in the dark. Here I began 
to howl and scream most abominably, which was no bad step to- 
wards my liberation, since those who were not inclined to pity me 
might be likely to set me free for the purpose of abating a nuisance. 

"At length a generous friend appeared to extricate me from jeop- 
ardy, and that generous friend was no other than the man I had so 
wantonly molested by assault and battery — it was the tender- 
hearted Doctor himself, with a lighted candle in his hand, and a 
smile upon his countenance, which was still partially red from the 
effects of my petulance. I sulked and sobbed as he fondled and 
soothed, till I began to brighten. Goldsmith seized the propitious 
moment of returning good-humor, when he put down the candle 
and began to conjure. He placed three hats, which happened to 
318 



STERNE AND GOLDSMITH 

be in the room, and a shilling under each. The shillings he told me 
were England, France, and Spain. 'Hey Presto cockalorum!' 
cried the Doctor, and lo, on uncovering the shillings, which had 
been dispersed each beneath a separate hat, they were all found con- 
gregated under one. I was no politician at five years old, and there- 
fore might net have wondered at the sudden revolution which 
brought England, France, and Spain all under one crown; but, as 
also I was no conjurer, it amazed me beyond measure. . . . From 
that time, whenever the doctor came to visit my father, ' I plucked 
his gown to share the good man's smile;' a game at romps con- 
stantly ensued, and we were always cordial friends and merry play- 
fellows. Our unequal companionship varied somewhat as to sports 
as I grew older; but it did not last long: my senior playmate died 
in his forty-fifth year, when I had attained my eleventh. ... In 
all the numerous accounts of his virtues and foibles, his genius and 
absurdities, his knowledge of natiure and ignorance of the world, 
his 'compassion for another's woe' was always predominant; and 
my trivial story of his humoring a froward child weighs but as a 
feather in the recorded scale of his benevolence." 

Think of him reckless, thriftless, vain if you like — but merciful, 
gentle, generous, full of love and pity. He passes out of our life, 
and goes to render his account beyond it. Think of the poor 
pensioners weeping at his grave; think of the noble spirits that 
admired and deplored him; think of the righteous pen that wrote 
his epitaph — and of the wonderful and unanimous response of 
affection with which the world has paid back the love he gave it. 
His humor delighting us still: his song fresh and beautiful as when 
first he charmed with it; his words in all our mouths: his very 
weaknesses beloved and familiar — his benevolent spirit seems 
still to smile upon us: to do gentle kindnesses: to succor with sweet 
charity: to soothe, caress, and forgive: to plead with the fortunate 
for the unhappy and the poor. 

His name is the last in the list of those men of humor who have 
formed the themes of the discourses which you have heard so 
kindly. 

Long before I had ever hoped for such an audience, or dreamed 
of the possibiHty of the good fortune which has brought me so many 
friends, I was at issue with some of my literary brethren upon a point 
— which they held from tradition I think rather than experience 

319 



STERNE AND GOLDSMITH 

— that our profession was neglected in this country; and that men 
of letters were ill-received and held in slight esteem. It would 
hardly be grateful of me now to alter my old opinion that we do 
meet with good-will and kindness, with generous helping hands in 
the time of our necessity, with cordial and friendly recognition. 
WTiat claim had any one of these of whom I have been speaking, 
but genius? What return of gratitude, fame, affection, did it not 
bring to all? 

What punishment befell those who were unfortunate among 
them, but that which follows reckless habits and careless lives? 
For these faults a vdt must suffer like the dullest prodigal that ever 
ran in debt. He must pay the tailor if he wears the coat; his chil- 
dren must go in rags if he spends his money at the tavern; he can't 
come to London and be made Lord Chancellor if he stops on the 
road and gambles away his last shilling at Dublin. And he must 
pay the social penalty of these follies too, and expect that the world 
will shun the man of bad habits, that women will avoid the man of 
loose life, that prudent folks will close their doors as a precaution, 
and before a demand should be made on their pockets by the needy 
prodigal. With what difficulty had any one of these men to con- 
tend, save that eternal and mechanical one of want of means and 
lack of capital, and of which thousands of young lawyers, young 
doctors, young soldiers and sailors, of inventors, manufacturers, 
shop-keepers, have to complain ? Hearts as brave and resolute as 
ever beat in the breast of any wit or poet, sicken and break daily in 
the vain endeavor and unavaiUng struggle against life's difficulty. 
Don't we see daily ruined inventors, gray-haired midshipmen, 
balked heroes, bhghted curates, barristers pining a hungry life out 
in chambers, the attorneys never mounting to their garrets, whilst 
scores of them are rapping at the door of the successful quack below ? 
If these suffer, who is the author, that he should be exempt? Let 
us bear our ills with the same constancy with which others endure 
them, accept our manly part in Ufe, hold our own, and ask no more. 
I can conceive of no kings or laws causing or curing Goldsmith's 
improvidence, or Fielding's fatal love of pleasure, or Dick Steele's 
mania for running races with the constable. You never can out- 
run that sure-footed officer — not by any swiftness or by dodges 
devised by any genius, however great ; and he carries off the Tatler 
to the spunging-house, or taps the Citizen of the World on the shoul- 
der as he would any other mortal. 

320 



STERNE AND GOLDSMITH 

Does society look down on a man because he is an author? I 
suppose if people want a buffoon they tolerate him only in to far as 
he is amusing; it can hardly be expected that they should respect 
him as an equal. Is there to be a guard of honor provided for the 
author of the last new novel or poem? how long is he to reign, 
and keep other potentates out of possession ? He retires, grumbles, 
and prints a lamentation that literature is despised. If Captain A. 
is left out of Lady B.'s parties he does not state that the army is 
despised: if Lord C. no longer asks Counsellor D. to dinner. Coun- 
sellor D. does not announce that the bar is insulted. He is not fair 
to society if he enters it with this suspicion hankering about him; 
if he is doubtful about his reception, how hold up his head honestly, 
and look frankly in the face that world about which he is full of 
suspicion ? Is he place-hunting, and thinking in his mind that he 
ought to be made an Ambassador, Uke Prior, or a Secretary of State, 
like Addison? this pretence of equality falls to the ground at once: 
he is scheming for a patron, not shaking the hand of a friend, when 
he meets the world. Treat such a man as he deserves; laugh at his 
buffoonery, and give him a dinner and a bon jour; laugh at his self- 
sufl&ciency and absurd assumptions of superiority, and his equally 
ludicrous airs of martyrdom: laugh at his flattery and his scheming, 
and buy it, if it's worth the having. Let the wag have his dinner 
and the hireling his pay if you want him, and make a profound bow 
to the grand honime incompris, and the boisterous mart}T, and show 
him the door. The great world, the great aggregate experience, 
has its good sense as it has its good humor. It detects a pretender, 
as it trusts a loyal heart. It is kind in the main : how should it be 
otherwise than kind, when it is so mse and clear headed ? To any 
literary man who says, "It despises my profession," I say, with all 
my might — no, no, no. It may pass over your individual case — 
how many a brave fellow has failed in the race, and perished un- 
known in the struggle! — but it treats you as you merit in the main. 
If you serve it, it is not unthankful; if you please, it is pleased; if 
you cringe to it, it detects you, and scorns you if you are mean; it 
returns your cheerfulness with its good humor; it deals not ungen- 
erously with your weaknesses; it recognizes most kindly your merits; 
it gives you a fair place and' fair play. To any one of those men of 
whom we have spoken was it in the main ungrateful ? A king might 
refuse Goldsmith a pension, as a pubUsher might keep his master- 
piece and the dehght of all the world in his desk for two years; but 
321 



STERNE AND GOLDSMITH 

it was mistake, and not ill-will. Noble and illustrious names of 
S^ift, and Pope, and Addison! dear and honored memories of Gold- 
smith and Fielding! kind friends, teachers, benefactors! who shall 
say that our coimtry, which continues to bring you such an imceas- 
ing tribute of applause, admiration, love, s}TTipathy, does not do 
honor to the literary calling in the honor which it bestows upon 
you? 



322 



FROM 

THE LIFE AND OPINIONS OF 
TRISTRAM SHANDY 

BY 

LAURENCE STERNE 



THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 

Thou art a good-natured soul, I will answer for thee, cried my 
uncle Tohy; and thou shalt drink the poor gentleman's health in 
a glass of sack thyself, — and take a couple of bottles with my 
service, and tell him he is heartily welcome to them, and to a dozen 
more if they will do him good. 

Though I am persuaded, said my imcle Tohy, as the landlord 
shut the door, he is a very compassionate fellow — Trim, — yet 
I cannot help entertaining a high opinion of his guest too; there 
must be something more than common in him, that in so short a 

time should win so much upon the affections of his host ; And 

of his whole family, added the corporal, for they are all concerned 

for him. Step after him, said my imcle Tohy, — do, Trim, — 

and ask if he knows his name. 

1 have quite forgot it truly, said the landlord, coming back 

into the parlour with the corporal, — but I can ask his son again : 

Has he a son with him then ? said my uncle Tohy. — A boy, 

replied the landlord, of about eleven or twelve years of age; — but 
the poor creature has tasted almost as little as his father; he does 

nothing but mourn and lament for him night and day: He has 

not stirred from the bed-side these two days. 

My imcle Tohy laid down his knife and fork, and thrust his plate 
from before him, as the landlord gave him the account ; and Trim, 
without being ordered, took away, without saying one word, and 
in a few minutes after brought him his pipe and tobacco. 

Stay in the room a Uttle, said my uncle Tohy. 

Trim! said my uncle Tohy, after he Ughted his pipe, and 

smoak'd about a dozen whiffs. Trim came in front of his master, 

and made his bow; — my uncle Tohy smoak'd on, and said no 

more. Corporal ! said my uncle Tohy the corporal made 

his bow. My imcle Tohy proceeded no farther, but finished his 

pipe. 

rnw/ said my uncle Tohy, I have a project in my head, as it is 
a bad night, of wrapping myself up warm in my roquelaure, and 
paying a visit to this poor gentleman. Your honour's roque- 
laure, replied the corporal, has not once been had on, since the 
night before your honour received yovir wound, when we mounted 
gviard in the trenches before the gate of St. Nicholas; and be- 
sides, it is so cold and rainy a night, that what with the roquelaure 
and what with the weather, 'twill be enough to give your honour 
your death, and bring on your honour's torment in your groin. I 
326 



OF TRISTRAM SHANDY 

fear so, replied my uncle Tohy; but I am not at rest in my mind, 

Trim, since the account the landlord has given me. 1 wish 

I had not known so much of this affair, — added my imcle Tohy, — 

or that I had known more of it: How shall we manage it? 

Leave it, an't please yovir honour, to me, quoth the corporal; 

I'll take my hat and stick and go to the house and reconnoitre, and 
act accordingly; and I will bring your honour a full account in an 

hour. Thou shalt go, Trim, said my imcle Toby, and here's 

a shilling for thee to drink with his servant. 1 shall get it all 

out of him, said the corporal, shutting the door. 

My imcle Toby filled his second pipe; and had it not been, that 
he now and then wandered from the point, with considering whether 
it was not full as well to have the curtain of the tenaille a straight 
line, as a crooked one, — he might be said to have thought of 
nothing else but poor Le Fever and his boy the whole time he 
smoaked it. 

CHAPTER VII 

THE STORY OF LE FEVER CONTINUED 

IT was not till my uncle Toby had knocked the ashes out of his 
third pipe, that corporal Trim returned from the inn, and 
gave him the following account. 

I despaired, at first, said the corporal, of being able to bring 
back your honour any kind of intelligence concerning the poor sick 

lieutenant. — Is he in the army, then ? said my uncle Toby He 

is, said the corporal And in what regiment? said my imcle 

Toby I'll tell your honour, replied the corporal, every thing 

straight forwards, as I learnt it. — Then, Trim, I'll fill another 
pipe, said my uncle Toby, and not interrupt thee till thou hast done; 
so sit down at thy ease. Trim, in the window-seat, and begin thy 
story again. The corporal made his old bow, which generally 
spoke as plain as a bow could speak it — Your honour is good: 

And having done that, he sat down, as he was ordered, — and 

begun the story to my uncle Toby over again in pretty near the 
same words. 

I despaired at first, said the corporal, of being able to bring back 
any intelligence to your honour, about the lieutenant and his son ; 
for when I asked where his servant was, from whom I made myself 
■327 



THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 

sure of knowing every thing which was proper to be asked, — 
That's a right distinction, Trim, said my uncle Tohy — I was 
answered, an' please your honour, that he had no servant with him; 

that he had come to the inn with hired horses, which, upon 

finding himseH unable to proceed (to join, I suppose, the regiment), 
he had dismissed the morning after he came. — If I get better, my 
dear, said he, as he gave his purse to his son to pay the man, — we 

can hire horses from hence. But alas! the poor gentleman 

will never get from hence, said the landlady to me, — f( r I heard 

the death-watch all night long; and when he dies, the youth, 

his son, wiU certainly die with him; for he is broken-hearted already. 

I was hearing this accoimt, continued the corporal, when the 
youth came into the kitchen, to order the thin toast the landlord 

spoke of; but I will do it for my father myself, said the youth. 

Pray let me save you the trouble, young gentleman, said I, 

taking up a fork for the purpose, and offering him my chair to sit 

down upon by the fire, whilst I did it. 1 believe. Sir, said he, 

very modestly, I can please him best myself. 1 am sure, said I, 

his honour will not like the toast the worse for being toasted by an 

old soldier. The youth took hold of my hand, and instantly 

burst into tears. Poor youth! said my uncle Tohy, — he has 

been bred up from an infant in the army, and the name of a soldier 
Trim, sounded in his ears like the name of a friend ; — I wish I had 
him here. 

1 never, in the longest march, said the corporal, had so 

great a mind to my dinner, as I had to cry with him for company: — 
What could be the matter with me, an' please your honour ? Nothing 
in the world, Trim, said my uncle Tohy, blowing his nose, — but 
that thou art a good-natured fellow. 

When I gave him the toast, continued the corporal, I thought 
it was proper to tell him I was captain Shandy s servant, and that 
your honour (though a stranger) was extremely concerned for his 
father ; — and that if there was any thing in your house or cellar 

(And thou might 'st have added my purse too, said my uncle 

Tohy) he was heartily welcome to it : He made a very 

low bow (which was meant to your honour), but no answer — for 
his heart was full — so he went up stairs with the toast ; — I warrant 
you, my dear, said I, as I opened the kitchen-door, your father will 

be well again. Mr. Yorick's curate was smoaking a pipe by 

the kitchen fire, — but said not a word good or bad to comfort the 
328 



OF TRISTRAM SHANDY 

youth. 1 thought it wrong; added the corporal 1 think so 

too, said my uncle Toby. 

WTien the lieutenant had taken his glass of sack and toast, he 
felt himself a little revived, and sent down into the kitchen, to let 
me know, that in about ten minutes he should be glad if I would 

step up stairs. 1 believe, said the landlord, he is going to say 

his prayers, for there was a book laid upon the chair by his 

bedside, and as I shut the door, I saw his son take up a cushion. 

I thought, said the curate, that you gentlemen of the army, Mr. 
Trim, never said your prayers at all. 1 heard the poor gentle- 
man say his prayers last night, said the landlady, very devoutly, 

and with my owti ears, or I could not have believed it. Are you 

sure of it ? replied the curate. A soldier, an' please your 

reverence, said I, prays as often (of his own accord) as a parson ; 

and when he is fighting for his king, and for his own life, and for 
his honour too, he has the most reason to pray to God of any one 
in the whole world. — -- 'Twas well said of thee, Trim, said my 
uncle Toby. But when a soldier, said I, an' please your rever- 
ence, has been standing for twelve hours together in the trenches, 
up to his knees in cold water, — or engaged, said I, for months 
together in long and dangerous marches; — harassed, perhaps, in 
his rear to-day; — harassing others to-morrow; — detached here ; — 
countermanded there ; — resting this night out upon his arms ; — 
beat up in his shirt the next ; — benumbed in his joints ; — perhaps 

without straw in his tent to kneel on; must say his prayers 

how and when he can. — I believe, said I, — for I was piqued, 
quoth the corporal, for the reputation of the army, — I believe, 
an' please your reverence, said I, that when a soldier gets time to 
pray, — he prays as heartily as a parson, — though not with all 

his fuss and hypocrisy. Thou shouldst not have said that, 

Trim, said my uncle Toby, — for God only knows who is a hypo- 
crite, and who is not: At the great and general review of us 

all, corporal, at the day of judgment (and not till then) — it will be 
seen who has done their duties in this world, — and who has not ; 

and we shall be advanced. Trim, accordingly. 1 hope we shall, 

said Trim. It is in the Scripture, said my imcle Toby; and I 

will shew it thee to-morrow : — In the mean time we may depend 
upon it. Trim, for our comfort, said my uncle Toby, that God 
Almighty is so good and just a governor of the world, that if we 
have but done our duties in it, — it will never be enquired into, 

329 



THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 

whether we have done them in a red coat or a black one : 1 

hope not, said the corporal But go on, Trim, said my uncle 

Tohy, with thy story. 

When I went up, continued the corporal, into the lieutenant's 
room, which I did not do till the expiration of the ten minutes, — 
he was lying in his bed with his head raised upon his hand, with his 
elbow upon the pillow, and a clean white cambrick handkerchief 

beside it: The youth was just stooping down to take up the 

cushion, upon which I supposed he had been kneeling, — the book 
was laid upon the bed, — and, as he rose, in taking up the cushion 
with one hand, he reached out his other to take it away at the same 
time. Let it remain there, my dear, said the lieutenant. 

He did not offer to speak to me, till I had walked up close to his 
bed-side: — If you are captain Shandy s servant, said he, you must 
present my thanks to your master, with my little boy's thanks along 
with them, for his courtesy to me ; — if he was of Leven's — said 
the lieutenant. — I told him your honour was. — Then, said he, I 
served three campaigns with him in Flanders, and remember him, — 
but 'tis most likely, as I had not the honour of any acquaintance 
with him, that he knows nothing of me. — You will tell him, 
however, that the person his good-nature has laid under obUgations 

to him, is one Le Fever, a lieutenant in Angus's but he knows 

me not, — said he, a second time, musing; possibly he may 

my story — added he — pray tell the captain I was the ensign at 
Breda, whose wife was most unfortunately killed with a musket- 
shot, as she lay in my arms in my tent. 1 remember the story 

an't please your honour, said I, very well. Do you so ? said he, 

wiping his eyes with his handkerchief, — then well may I. — In 
saying this, he drew a little ring out of his bosom, which seemed 

tied with a black ribband about his neck, and kiss'd it twice 

Here, Billy, said he, the boy flew across the room to the bed- 
side, — and falling down upon his knee, took the ring in his hand, 
and kissed it too, — then kissed his father, and sat down upon the 
bed and wept. 

I wish, said my uncle Toby, vdth a deep sigh, — I wish. Trim, 
I was asleep. 

Your honour, replied the corporal, is too much concerned; — 

shall I pour your honour out a glass of sack to your pipe? Do, 

Trim, said my uncle Toby. 

I remember, said my uncle Toby, sighing again, the story of the 
330 



OF TRISTRAM SHANDY 

ensign and his wife, with a circumstance his modesty omitted; — 
and particularly well that he, as well as she, upon some account 
or other (I forget what) was universally pitied by the whole regi- 
ment ; — but finish the story thou art upon : — 'Tis finished already, 
said the corporal, — for I could stay no longer, — so wished his 
honour a good night; young Le Fever rose from off the bed, and 
saw me to the bottom of the stairs; and as we went down together, 
told me, they had come from Ireland, and were on their route to 

join the regiment in Flanders. But alas! said the corporal, — 

the lieutenant's last day's march is over. — Then what is to become 
of his poor boy? cried my uncle Toby. 



CHAPTER VIII 

THE STORY OF LE FEVER CONTINUED 

IT was to my uncle Toby's eternal honour, though I teU 
it only for the sake of those, who, when coop'd in betwixt 
a natural and a positive law, know not, for their souls, which way 

in the world to turn themselves That notwithstanding my 

uncle Toby was warmly engaged at that time in carrying on the 
siege of Dendermond, parallel with the aUies, who pressed theirs 
on so vigorously, that they scarce allowed him tirpe to get his dinner 

that nevertheless he gave up Dendermond, though he had 

already made a lodgment upon the counterscarp; — and bent his 
whole thoughts towards the private distresses at the inn; and ex- 
cept that he ordered the garden gate to be bolted up, by which 
he might be said to have turned the siege of Dendermond into a 
blockade, — he left Dendermond to itself — to be relieved or not 
by the French king, as the French king thought good; and only 
considered how he himself should reUeve the poor lieutenant and 
his son. 

That kind Being, who is a friend to the friendless, shall 

recompence thee for this. 

Thou hast left this matter short, said my uncle Toby to the cor- 
poral, as he was putting him to bed, and I will tell thee in 

what. Trim. In the first place, when thou madest an offer 

of my services to Le Fever, as sickness and travelling are 

both expensive, and thou knowest he was but a poor lieutenant. 



THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 

with a son to subsist as well as himself out of his pay, — that thou 
didst not make an offer to him of my purse; because, had he stood 
in need, thou knowest, Trim, he had been as welcome to it as my- 
self. Your honour knows, said the corporal, I had no orders; 

True, quoth my uncle Toby, — thou didst very right, Trim, 

as a soldier, — but certainly very wrong as a man. 

In the second place, for which, indeed, thou hast the same excuse, 

continued my uncle Toby, when thou offeredst him whatever 

was in my house, thou shouldst have offered him my house 

too: A sick brother ofl&cer should have the best quarters. 

Trim, and if we had him with us, — we could tend and look to 

him : Thou art an excellent nurse thyself. Trim, — and what 

with thy care of him, and the old woman's, and his boy's, and mine 
together, we might recruit him again at once, and set him upon 
his legs. 

In a fortnight or three weeks, added my uncle Toby, smiling, 

he might march. He will never march; an' please your 

honour, in this world, said the corporal: He will march; said 

my uncle Toby, rising up from the side of the bed, with one shoe 

off: An' please your honour, said the corporal, he will never 

march but to his grave : He shall march, cried my imcle Toby, 

marching the foot which had a shoe on, though without advancing 

an inch, — he shall march to his regiment. He cannot stand 

it, said the corporal; He shall be supported, said my uncle 

Toby ; He'll drop at last, said the corporal, and what will 

become of his boy ? He shall not drop, said my uncle Toby, 

firmly, A-well-o'day, — do what we can for him, said Trim, 

maintaining his point — the poor soul will die : He shall not 

die, by G — , cried my uncle Toby. 

— The ACCUSING SPIRIT, which flew up to heaven's chancery 
with the oath, blush'd as he gave it in ; — and the recording angel, 
as he wrote it dovm, dropp'd a tear upon the word, and blotted it 
out for ever. 

CHAPTER IX 

MY uncle Toby went to his bureau, — put his purse into 
his breeches pocket, and having ordered the corporal to go 
early in the morning for a physician, — he went to bed, and fell 
asleep. 

332 



OF TRISTRAM SHANDY 
CHAPTER X 

THE STORY OF LE FEVER CONTINUED 

THE sun looked bright the morning after, to every eye in the 
village but Le Fever^s and his afflicted son's ; the hand of death 

press'd heavy upon his eyelids, and hardly could the wheel at 

the cistern turn round its circle, — when my uncle Toby, who had 
rose up an hour before his wonted time, entered the lieutenant's 
room, and without preface or apology, sat himself down upon the 
chair by the bed-side, and independently of all modes and customs, 
opened the curtain in the manner an old friend and brother officer 
would have done it, and asked him how he did, — how he had 
rested in the night, — what was his complaint, — where was his 

pain, — and what he could do to help him: and without giving 

him time to answer any one of the enquiries, went on, and told him 
of the Htttle plan which he had been concerting with the corporal 
the night before for him. 

You shall go home directly, Le Fever, sdUd my uncle Tohy, to 

my house, — and we'll send for a doctor to see what's the matter, 
— and we'll have an apothecary, — and the corporal shall be your 
nurse; and I'll be your servant, Le Fever. 

There was a frankness in my uncle Tohy, — not the ej]ect of fami- 
liarity, — but the cause of it, — which let you at once into his soul, 
and shewed you the goodness of his nature; to this, there was some- 
thing in his looks, and voice, and manner, superadded, which eter- 
nally beckoned to the unfortunate to come and take shelter under 
him ; so that before my uncle Tohy had half finished the kind offers 
he was making to the father, had the son insensibly pressed up close 
to his knees, and had taken hold of the breast of his coat, and was 

pulling it towards him. The blood and spirits of Le Fever, 

which were waxing cold and slow within him, and were retreating 
to their last citadel, the heart, — rallied back, — the film forsook 
his eyes for a moment, — he looked up wishfully in my uncle Tohys 

face, — then cast a look upon his boy, and that ligament, fine 

as it was, — was never broken. 

Nature instantly ebb'd again, — the film returned to its place, 

the pulse fluttered stopp'd went on throbb'd 

stopp'd again moved stopp'd shall I go on? 

No. 

333 



THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 



CHAPTER XI 

I AM so impatient to return to my own story, that what remains 
of yoimg Le Fever^s, that is, from this turn of his fortune, to 
the time my uncle Toby recommended him for my preceptor, shall 
be told in a very few words in the next chapter. — All that is neces- 
sar}' to be added to this chapter is as follows. — 

That my uncle Tohy, with yovmg Le Fever in his hand, attended 
the poor lieutenant, as chief mourners, to his grave. 

That the governor of Dendermond paid his obsequies all military 
honours, — and that Yorick, not to be behind-hand — paid him all 
ecclesiastic — for he buried him in his chancel : — And it appears 
likewise, he preached a funeral sermon over him 1 say it ap- 
pears, — for it was Yorick's custom, which I suppose a general one 
with those of his profession, on the first leaf of ever}- sermon which 
he composed, to chronicle down the time, the place, and the occasion 
of its being preached: to this, he was ever wont to add some short 
comment or stricture upon the sermon itself, seldom, indeed, much 
to its credit : — For instance, This sermon upon the Jewish dispen- 
sation — / don't like it all; — Though I own there is a world of 
WATER-LAKDISH ktwwledge in it, — but His all tritical, and most 
tritically put together. This is but a flimsy kind of a com- 
position; what was in my head wJien I made it ? 

N. B. The excellency of this text is, that it will suit any ser- 
mon, — and of this sermon, tJmt it will suit any text. 

For this sermon I shall be hanged, — for I have stolen the 

greatest part of it. Doctor Paidagimes found me out. ([^^ Set a 
thief to catch a thief. 

On the back of half a dozen I find written. So, so, and no more 

and upon a couple Moderato; by which, as far as one may 

gather from Altieri's Italian dictionar)-, — but mostly from the au- 
thority of a piece of green whipcord, which seemed to have been 
the unravelling of Yorick's whip-lash, with which he has left us 
the two sermons marked Moderato, and the half dozen of So, so, 
tied fast together in one bundle by themselves, — one may safely 
suppose he meant pretty near the same thing. 

There is but one difficulty in the way of this conjecture, which is 
this, that the moderators are five times better than the so, so's; — 
show ten times more knowledge of the human heart ; — have seventy 
times more wit and spirit in them; — (and, to rise properly in my 

334 



OF TRISTRAM SHANDY 

climax) — discovered a thousand times more genius; — and to 
crown all, are infinitely more entertaining than those tied up with 
them: — for which reason, whene'er Yorick's dramatic sermons are 
offered to the world, though I shall admit but one out of the whole 
number of the so, so^s, I shall, nevertheless, adventure to print the 
two moderators without any sort of scruple. 

What Yorick could mean by the words lentamente, — tenute, — 
grave, — and sometimes adagio, — as appUed to theological compo- 
sitions, and ^\•ith which he has characterised some of these sermons, 

I dare not venture to guess. 1 am more puzzled still upon 

finding a I'octava alta 1 upon one ; Con strepito upon the back 

of another; Siciliana upon a third; Alia capella upon a 

fourth; Con Varco upon this; Senza Vacro upon that. 

All I know is, that they are musical terms, and have a meaning; 

and as he was a musical man, I will make no doubt, but that by 
some quaint application of such metaphors to the compositions in 
hand, they impressed very distinct ideas of their several characters 
upon his fancy, — whatever they may do upon that of others. 

Amongst these, there is that particular sermon which has unac- 
countably led me into this digression The funeral sermon 

upon poor Le Fever, wTote out very fairly, as if from a hasty copy. — 
I take notice of it the more, because it seems to have been his fav- 
ourite composition — It is upon mortality; and is tied lengthways 
and cross-ways with a yam thrum, and then rolled up and twisted 
round with a half-sheet of dirty blue paper, which seems to have 
been onge. the cast cover of a general review, which to this day 
smells horribly of horse drugs. Whether these marks of humil- 
iation were designed, — I something doubt; because at the 

end of the sermon (and not at the beginning of it) — very different 
from his way of treating the rest, he had wrote 

Bravo! 

Though not very offensively, for it is at two inches, at 

least, and a half's distance from, and below the concluding line of 
the sermon, at the very extremity of the page, and in the right-hand 
comer of it, which, you know, is generally covered with your thumb; 
and, to do it justice, it is wrote besides with a crow's quill so faintly 
in a small Italian hand, as scarce to soUcit the eye towards the place, 
whether your thumb is there or not, — so that from the manner of 
it, it stands half excused ; and being wrote moreover with very pale 

335 



THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 

ink, diluted almost to nothing, — 'tis more like a ritratto of the 
shadow of vanity, than of Vanity herself — of the two; resembling 
rather a faint thought of transient applause, secretly stirring up 
in the heart of the composer; than a gross mark of it, coarsely 
obtruded upon the world. 

With all these extenuations, I am aware, that in publishing this, 
I do no service to Yorick's character as a modest man ; — but all 
men have their failings! and what lessens this still farther, and 
almost wipes it away, is this; that the word was struck through 
sometime afterwards (as appears from a different tint of the ink) 

with a Une quite across it in this manner, BRAVO as if he 

had retracted, or was ashamed of the opinion he had once enter- 
tained of it. 

These short characters of his sermons were always vmtten, except- 
ing in this one instance, upon the first leaf of his sermon, which 
served as a cover to it ; and usually upon the inside of it, which was 
turned towards the text ; — but at the end of his discourse, where, 
perhaps, he had five or six pages, and sometines, perhaps, a whole 
score to turn himself in, — he took a large circuit, and, indeed, a 
much more mettlesome one ; — as if he had snatched the occasion of 
unlacing himself with a few more frolicksome strokes at vice, than 
the straightness of the pulpit allowed. — These, though hussard-like, 
they skirmish Ughtly and out of all order, are still auxiliaries on 
the side of virtue; — |tell me then. Mynheer Vander Blonederdonder- 
gewdenstronke, why they should not be printed together? 

CHAPTER XII 

WHEN my uncle Toby had turned every thing into money, and 
settled all accounts betwixt the agent of the regiment and 

Le Fever, and betwixt Le Fever and all mankind, there 

remained nothing more in my uncle Toby's hands, than an old regi- 
mental coat and a sword ; so that my uncle Toby foimd Uttle or no 
opposition from the world in taking administration. The coat my 

uncle Toby gave the corporal; Wear it, Trim, said my uncle 

Toby, as long as it will hold together, for the sake of the poor lieuten- 
ant And this, said my uncle Toby, taking up the sword in 

his hand, and drawing it out of the scabbard as he spoke — 

and this, Le Fever, I'll save for thee, — 'tis all the fortune, continued 

my imcle Toby, hanging it up upon a crook, and pointing to it, — 'tis 

336 



OF TRISTRAM SHANDY 

all the fortune, my deap Le Fever, which God has left thee; but if 
he has given thee a heart to fight thy way with it in the world, — 
and thou doest it like a man of honour, — 'tis enough for us. 

As soon as my uncle Tohy had laid a foundation, and taught 
him to inscribe a regular polygon in a circle, he sent him to a public 
school, where, excepting Whitsontide and Christmas, at which 
times the corporal was punctually dispatched for him, — he 
remained to the spring of the year, seventeen; when the stories of 
the emperor's sending his army into Hungary against the Turks, 
kindling a spark of fire in his bosom, he left his Greek and Latin 
without leave, and throwing himself upon his knees before my 
uncle Tohy, begged his father's sword, and my uncle Toby's leave 
along with it, to go and try his fortune under Eugene. — Twice 
did my uncle Toby forget his wound and cry out, Le Fever 1 1 will 

go with thee, and thou shalt fight beside me And twice he 

laid his hand upon his groin, and hung down his head in sorrow 
and disconsolation. 

My uncle Toby took down the sword from the crook, where it 
had hung untouched ever since the lieutenant's death, and delivered 

it to the corporal to brighten up; and having detained Le Fever 

a single fortnight to equip him, and contract for his passage to 

Leghorn, — he put the sword into his hand. If thou art brave, 

Le Fever, said my uncle Toby, this will not fail thee, but 

Fortune, said he (musing a little), Fortune may And if 

she does, — added my uncle Toby, embracing him, come back 
again to me, Le Fever, and we will shape thee another course. 

The greatest injury could not have oppressed the heart of 
Le Fever more than my imcle Toby's paternal kindness; — he 
parted from my uncle Toby, as the best of sons from the best of 

fathers both dropped tears and as my uncle Toby gave 

him his last kiss, he slipped sixty guineas, tied up in an old purse 
of his father's, in which was his mother's ring, into his hand, — and 
bid God bless him. 

CHAPTER XIII 

LE FEVER got up to the Imperial army just time enough to 
try what metal his sword was made of, at the defeat of the 
Turks before Belgrade; but a series of unmerited mischances had 
pursued him from that moment, and trod close upon his heels for 

337 



LIFE OF TRISTRAM SHANDY 

four years together after; he had withstood these buffetings to 
the last, till sickness overtook him at Marseilles, from whence he 
wrote my uncle Toby word, he had lost his time, his services, his 

health, and, in short, every thing but his sword; and was 

waiting for the first ship to return back to him. 

As his letter came to hand about six weeks before Susannah's 
accident, Le Fever was hourly expected ; and was uppermost in my 
uncle Toby's mind all the time my father was giving him and 
Yorick a description of what kind of a person he would chuse for a 
preceptor to me: but as my uncle Toby thought my father at first 
somewhat fanciful in the accomplishments he required, he forebore 

mentioning Le Fever's name, till the character, by Yorick's 

interposition, ending unexpectedly, in one, who should be gentle- 
tempered, and generous, and good, it impressed the image of 
Le Fever, and his interest, upon my uncle Toby so forcibly, he rose 
instantly off his chair; and laying down his pipe, in order to take 
hold of both my father's hands — I beg, brother Shandy, said my 

uncle Toby, I may recommend poor Le Fever's son to you 1 

beseech you do, added Yorick He has a good heart, said my 

uncle Toby And a brave one too, an' please your honour, said 

the corporal. 

The best hearts, Trim, are ever the bravest, replied my 

uncle Toby. And the greatest cowards, an' please your honour, 

in our regiment, were the greatest rascals in it. There was 

sergeant Kutnber, and ensign 

We'll talk of them, said my father, another time. 



338 



SAUNTERINGS IN FRANCE 



BOOK VII 

CHAPTER I 



NO 1 think, I said, I would write two volumes every year, 
provided the vile cough which then tormented me, and which 
to this hour I dread worse than the devil, would but give me leave — 
and in another place — (but where, I can't recollect now) speaking 
of my book at a machine, and laying my pen and ruler down cross- 
wise upon the table, in order to gain the greater credit to it — I 
swore it should be kept a going at that rate these forty years, if it 
pleased but the fountain of life to bless me so long with health and 
good spirits. 

Now as for my spirits, little have I to lay to their charge — nay 
so very Httle (unless the mounting me upon a long stick and playing 
the fool with me nineteen hours out of the twenty-four, be accusa- 
tions) that on the contrary, I have much — much to thank 'em for: 
cheerily have ye made me tread the path of life with all the burthens 
of it (except its cares) upon my back; in no one moment of my exist- 
ence, that I remember, have ye once deserted me, or tinged the objects 
which came in my way, either with sable, or with a sickly green; 
in dangers ye gilded my horizon with hope, and when Death 
himself knocked at my door — ye bad him come again ; and in so 
gay a tone of careless indifference, did ye do it, that he doubted of 
his commission 

" — There must certainly be some mistake in this matter," 
quoth he. 

Now there is nothing in this world I abominate worse, than to be 

interrupted in a story and I was that moment telUng Eugenius 

a most tawdry one in my way, of a nun who fancied herself a shell- 

339 



THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 

fish, and of a monk damn'd for eating a muscle, and was shewing 
him the grounds and justice of the procedure. 

" — Did ever so grave a personage get into so vile a scrape?" 
quoth Death. Thou hast had a narrow escape, Tristram, said 
Eugenius, taking hold of my hand as I finished my story. 

But there is no living, Eugenius, replied I, at this rate; for as this 
son of a whore has found out my lodgings 

— You call him rightly, said Eugenius, — for by sin, we are told, 

he enter'd the world 1 care not which way he enter'd, quoth 

I, provided he be not in such a hurry to take me out with him — 
for I have forty volumes to write, and forty thousand things to say 
and do which no body in the world will say and do for me, except 
thyself; and as thou seest he has got me by the throat (for Eugenius 
could scarce hear me speak across the table), and that I am no 
match for him in the open field, had I not better, whilst these few 
scatter'd spirits remain, and these two spider legs of mine (holding 
one of them up to him) are able to support me — had I not better, 
Eugenius, fly for my Hfe ? 'Tis my advice, my dear Tristram, said 
Eugenius, — Then by heaven ! I will lead him a dance he httle 
thinks of for I will gallop, quoth I, without looking once be- 
hind me, to the banks of the Garonne; and if I hear him clattering 

at my heels I'll scamper away to movmt Vesuvius from 

thence to Jap pa, and from Jappa to the world's end; where, if he 
follows me, I pray God he may break his neck 

— He runs more risk there, said Eugenius, than thou. 
Eugenius's wit and affection brought blood into the cheek from 

whence it had been some months banish'd 'twas a vile moment 

to bid adieu in ; he led me to my chaise Allans/ said I ; the post- 
boy gave a crack with his whip off I went like a cannon, and 

in half a dozen bounds got into Dover. 

CHAPTER II 

NOW hang it! quoth I, as I look'd towards the French coast — 
a man should know something of his own country too, before 

he goes abroad and I never gave a peep into Rochester church, 

or took notice of the dock of Chatham, or visited St. Thomas at 
Canterbury, though they all three laid in my way 

— But mine, indeed, is a particular case 

So without arguing the matter further with Thomas o' Becket, 
340 



OF TRISTRAM SHANDY 

or any one else — I skip'd into the boat, and in five minutes we 
got under sail, and scudded away like the wind. 

Pray, captain, quoth I, as I was going down into the cabin, is a 
man never overtaken by Death in this passage? 

Why, there is not time for a man to be sick in it, replied he 

What a cursed lyar! for I am sick as a horse, quoth I, already 

what a brain! upside down! hey-day! the cells are 

broke loose one into another, and the blood, and the lymph, and 
the nervous juices, with the fix'd and volatile salts, are all jumbled 

into one mass good G — ! every thing turns round in it Uke a 

thousand whirlpools I'd give a shilling to know if I shan't 

write the clearer for it 

Sick! sick! sick! sick! 

— When shall we get to land ? captain — they have hearts like 

stones O I am deadly sick! reach me that thing, boy 

'tis the most discomfiting sickness 1 wish I was at the bottom 

— Madam! how is it with you? Undone! undone! un O! 

imdone! sir What the first time? No, 'tis the second, 

third, sixth, tenth time, sir, hey-day! — what a trampling 

over head! — hollo! cabin boy! what's the matter? — 

The wind chopp'd about! s'Death! — then I shall meet him full 
in the face. 

What luck! — 'tis chopp'd about again, master O the devil 

chop it 

Captain, quoth she, for heaven's sake, let us get ashore. 



CHAPTER III 

IT is a great inconvenience to a man in a haste, that there are 
three distinct roads between Calais and Paris, in behalf of 
which there is so much to be said by the several deputies from the 
toM'ns which lie along them, that half a day is easily lost in settling 
which you'll take. 

First, the road by Lisle and Arras, which is the most about 

but most interesting, and instructing. 

The second, that by Amiens, which you may go, if you would 
see Chantilly 

And that by Beauvais, which you may go, if you will. 

For this reason a great many chuse to go by Beauvais. 

341 



THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 

CHAPTER IV 

'' "VTOWbefore I quit Ca/aw," a travel-writerwould say, "it would 
X^ not be amiss to give some account of it." — Now I think it 
very much amiss — that a man cannot go quietly through a town, 
and let it alone, when it does not meddle with him, but that he must 
be turning about and drawing his pen at every kennel he crosses 
over, merely o' my conscience for the sake of drawing it; because, 
if we may judge from what has been wrote of these things, by all 
who have wrote and galloped — or who have galloped and wrote, 
which is a different way still ; or who, for more expedition than the 

rest, have wrote galloping, which is the way I do at present 

from the great Addison, who did it with his satchel of school books 
hanging at his a — , and galling his beast's crupper at every stroke 
— there is not a galloper of us all who might not have gone on am- 
bling quietly in his ovm ground (in case he had any), and have wrote 
all he had to write, dryshod, as well as not. 

For my own part, as heaven is my judge, and to which I shall ever 
make my last appeal — I know no more of Calais (except the little 
my barber told me of it as he was whetting his razor), than I do this 
moment of Grand Cairo; for it was dusky in the evening when I 
landed, and dark as pitch in the morning when I set out, and yet by 
merely knowing what is what, and by drawing this from that in one 
part of the town, and by spelUng and putting this and that together 
in another — I would lay any traveUing odds, that I this moment 
write a chapter upon Calais as long as my arm ; and with so distinct 
and satisfactory a detail of every item, which is worth a stranger's 
curiosity in the town — that you would take me for the town-clerk 
of Calais itself — and where, sir, would be the wonder ? was not 
Democritus, who laughed ten times more than I — tovra-clerk of 
Ahdera? and was not (I forget his name) who had more discretion 

than us both, town-clerk of Ephesus? it should be penn'd 

moreover, sir, with so much knowledge and good sense, and truth, 
and precision 

— Nay — if you don't believe me, you may read the chapter for 
your pains. 



342 



OF TRISTRAM SHANDY 



CHAPTER V 

CALAIS, Calatium, Calusium, Calesium 
This town, if we may trust its archives, the authority of which 
I see no reason to call in question in this place — was once no more 
than a small village belonging to one of the first Counts de Gnignes; 
and as it boasts at present of no less than fourteen thousand inhabi- 
tants, exclusive of four hundred and twenty distinct families in the 

basse ville, or suburbs it must have grown up by httle and little, 

I suppose, to its present size. 

Though there are four convents, there is but one parochial church 
in the whole town; I had not an opportunity of taking its exact 
dimensions, but it is pretty easy to make a tolerable conjecture of 'em 

— for as there are fourteen thousand inhabitants in the town, if 
the church holds them all it must be considerably large — and if it 
will not — 'tis a very great pity they have not another — it is built 
in form of a cross, and dedicated to the Virgin Mary; the steeple, 
which has a spire to it, is placed in the middle of the church, and 
stands upon four pillars elegant and Hght enough, but sufficiently 
strong at the same time — it is decorated with eleven altars, most of 
which are rather fine than beautiful. The great altar is a masterpiece 
in its kind ; 'tis of white marble, and, as I was told, near sixty feet high 

— had it been much higher, it had been as high as mount Calvary it- 
self — therefore, I suppose it must be high enough in all conscience. 

There was nothing struck me more than the great Square; tho' 
I cannot say 'tis either well paved or well built ; but 'tis in the heart 
of the town, and most of the streets, especially those in that quarter, 
all terminate in it; could there have been a fountain in all Calais, 
which it seems there cannot, as such an object would have been a 
great ornament, it is not to be doubted, but that the inhabitants 
would have had it in the very centre of this square, — not that it is 
properly a square, — because 'tis forty feet longer from east to 
west, than from north to south; so that the French in general have 
more reason on their side in calling them Places than Squares, 
which, strictly speaking, to be sure, they are not. 

The town-house seems to be but a sorry building, and not to be 
kept in the best repair; otherwise it had been a second great orna- 
ment to this place ; it answers however its destination, and serves very 
well for the reception of the magistrates, who assemble in it from 
time to time; so that 'tis presumable, justice is regularly distributed. 

343 



THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 

I have heard much of it, but there is nothing at all curious in 
the C our gain; 'tis a distinct quarter of the town, inhabited solely by 
sailors imd fishermen; it consists of a number of small streets, neatly 
built and mostly of brick; 'tis extremely populous, but as that may 
be accounted for, from the principles of their diet, — there is nothing 

curious in that neither. A traveller may see it to satisfy himself 

— he must not omit however taking notice of La Tour de Guet, 
upon any account; 'tis so called from its particular destination, 
because in war it serves to discover and give notice of the enemies 

which approach the place, either by sea or land; but 'tis 

monstrous high, and catches the eye so continually, you cannot 
avoid taking notice of it if you would. 

It was a singular disappointment to me, that I could not have 
permission to take an exact survey of the fortifications, which are 
the strongest in the world, and which, from first to last, that is, 
from the time they were set about by Philip of France, Count of 
Boulogne, to the present war, wherein many reparations were made, 
have cost (as I leaned afterwards from an engineer in Gascony) — 
above a himdred millions of livres. It is very remarkable, that at 
the Tete de Gravelenes, and where the town is naturally the weakest, 
they have expended the most money; so that the outworks stretch 
a great way into the campaign, and consequently occupy a large 
tract of groxmd — However, after all that is said and done, it must 
be acknowledged that Calais was never upon any account so con- 
siderable from itself, as from its situation, and that easy entrance 
which it gave our ancestors, upon all occasions, into France: it was 
not without its conveniences also ; being no less troublesome to the 
English in those times, than Dunikirk has been to us, in ours; so 
that it was deservedly looked upon as the key to both kingdoms, 
which no doubt is the reason that there have arisen so many conten- 
tions who should keep it: of these, the siege of Calais, or rather the 
blockade (for it was shut up both by land and sea), was the most 
memorable, as it withstood the efforts of Edward the Third a whole 
year, and was not terminated at last but by famine and extreme misery; 
the gallantry of Eustace de St. Pierre, who first offered himself a 
victim for his fellow-citizens, has rank'd his name with heroes. As 
it will not take up above fifty pages, it would be injustice to the 
reader, not to give him a minute account of that romantic transac- 
tion, as well as of the siege itself, in Rapin's own words: 



344 



OF TRISTRAM SHANDY 



CHAPTER VI 



B' 



I UT courage ! gentle reader ! I scom it *tis 

enough to have thee in my power but to make 

use of the advantage which the fortune of the pen has now gained 

over thee, would be too much No ! by that all-powerful 

fire which warms the visionary brain, and lights the spirits through 
unworldly tracts! ere I would force a helpless creature upon this 
hard service, and make thee pay, poor soul! for fifty pages, which 

I have no right to sell thee, naked as I am, I would browse 

upon the mountains, and smile that the north wind brought me 
neither my tent or my supper. 

— So put on, my brave boy! and make the best of thy way to 
Boulogne. 



B' 



CHAPTER VII 

OULOGNE! hah! so we are all got together 

debtors and sinners before heaven; a jolly set of 
us — but I can't stay and quaff it off with you — I'm pursued 
myself like a hundred devils, and shall be overtaken, before I can 

well change horses: for heaven's sake, make haste 'Tis 

for high-treason, quoth a very little man, whispering as low as he 

could to a very tall man, that stood next him Or else for 

murder; quoth the tall man Well thrown. Size-ace quoth I. 

No; quoth a third, the gentleman has been committing 

Ah! ma chere fille/ said I, as she tripp'd by from her matins — 
you look as rosy as the morning (for the sun was rising, and it made 
the compliment the more gracious) — No; it can't be that, quoth 

a fourth (she made a curt'sy to me — I kiss'd my hand) 'tis 

debt, contmued he: 'Tis certainly for debt; quoth a fifth; I would 
not pay that gentleman's debts, quoth Ace, for a thousand pounds; 
nor would I, quoth Size, for six times the sum — Well thrown, 
Size-ace, again! quoth I; — but I have no debt but the debt of 
Nature, and I want but patience of her, and I will pay her every 

farthing I owe her How can you be so hard-hearted, Madam, 

to arrest a poor traveller gomg along without molestation to any one 
upon his lawful occasions? do stop that death-looking, long-strid- 
ing scoundrel of a scare-sinner, who is posting after me — he never 
would have followed me but for you if it be but for a stage or 

345 



THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 

two, just to give me start of him, I beseech you, madam do, 

dear lady 

Now, in troth, 'tis a great pity, quoth mine Irish host, that 

all this good courtship should be lost; for the young gentlewoman 
has been after going out of hearing of it all along. 

Simpleton ! quoth I. 

So you have nothing else in Boulogne worth seeing ? 

— By Jasus ! there is the finest Seminary for the Humani- 
ties 

— There cannot be a finer; quoth I. 



CHAPTER VIII 

WHEN the precipitancy of a man's wishes hurries on his ideas 
ninety times faster than the vehicle he rides in woe be to 

truth: and woe be to the vehicle and its tackling (let 'em be made 
of what stuff you will) upon which he breathes forth the disapp int- 
ment of his soul! 

As I never give general characters either of men or things in 
choler, "/Ae most haste the worst speed,''^ was all the reflection I 
made upon the affair, the first time it happen 'd; — the second, 
third, fourth, and fifth time, I confined it respectively to those 
times, and accordingly blamed only the second, third, fourth, and 
fifth post-boy for it, without carrjing my reflections further; but 
the event continuing to befal me from the fifth, to the sixth, seventh, 
eighth, ninth, and tenth time, and without one exception, I then 
could not avoid making a national reflection of it, which I do in 
these words ; 

That something is always wrong in a French post-dmise, upon 
first setting out. 

Or the proposition may stand thus : 

A French postilion has always to alight before he has got three 
hundred yards out 0} town. 

What's wrong now ? Diable ! a rope's broke ! a 

knot has slipt! a staple's drawn! a bolt's to whittle! 

a tag, a rag, a jag, a strap, a buckle, or a buckle's tongue, want 
altering. 

Now true as all this is, I never think myself impowered to excom- 
municate thereupon either the post-chaise, or its driver nor do 

346 



OF TRISTRAM SHANDY 

I take it into my head to swear by the Uving G— , I would rather 

go a-foot ten thousand times or that I will be damn'd, if ever 

I get into another but I take the matter cooly before me, 

and consider, that some tag, or rag, or jag, or bolt, or buckle, or 
buckle's tongue, will ever be a wanting, or want altering, travel 
where I will — so I never chaff, but take the good and the bad as 

they fall in my road, and get on : Do so, my lad ! said I; he had 

lost five minutes already, in alighting in order to get at a luncheon 
of black bread, which he had cramm'd into the chaise-pocket, and 

was remounted and going leisurely on, to relish it the better 

Get on, my lad, said I, briskly — but in the most persuasive tone 
imaginable, for I ingled a four-and-twenty sous piece against the 
glass, taking care to hold the flat side towards him, as he look'd 
back: the dog grinn'd intelligence from his right ear to his left, 
and behind his sooty muzzle discovered such a pearly row of teeth 

that Soverei nty would have pawn 'd her jewels for them. 

T . , , ( What masticators ! 

Just heaven! j ^yhat bread!- 

and so as he finished the last mouthful of it, we entered the town 
of MontreuU. 

CHAPTER IX 

THERE is not a towTi in all France, which, in my opinion, 
looks better in the map, than Montreuil: 1 own, it 

does not look so well in the book of post-roads ; but when you come 
to see it — to be sure it looks most pitifully. 

There is one thing, however, in it at present very handsome; 
and that is, the inn-keeper's daughter: She has been eighteen months 
at Amiens, and six at Paris, in going through her classes; so knits, 
and sews, and dances, and does the little coquetries very well. 

— A slut ! in running them over within these five minutes that I 
have stood looking at her, she has let fall at least a dozen loops in 

a white thread stocking yes, yes — I see, you cunning gipsy! — 

'tis long and taper — you need not pm it to your knee — and that 
'tis your own — and fits you exactly. 

That Nature should have told this creature a word about a 

statue's thumb! 

— But as this sample isworth all their thumbs besides, I have 

her thumbs and fingers in at the bargain, if they can be any guide to 

347 



THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 

me, — and as Janatone withal (for that is her name) stands so well 

for a drawing may I never draw more, or rather may I draw 

like a draught-horse, by main strength all the days of my life, — if 
I do not draw her in all her proportions, and with as determined a 
pencil, as if I had her in the wettest drapery. 

— But your worships chuse rather that I give you the length, 
breadth, and perpendicular height of the great parish-church, or 
drawing of the fafade of the abbey of Saint Austreberte which has 
been transported from Artois hither — every thing is just I suppose 
as the masons and carpenters left them, — and if the belief in Christ 
continues so long, will be so these fifty years to come — so your wor- 
ships and reverences may all measure them at your leisures but 

he who measures thee, Janatone, must do it now — thou earnest 
the principles of change within thy frame; and considering the 
chances of a transitory life, I would not answer for thee a moment ; 
ere twice twelve months are passed and gone, thou mayest grow out 

like a pumpkin, and lose thy shapes or thou mayest go off 

like a flower, and lose thy beauty — nay, thou mayest go off like a 
hussy — and lose thyself. — I would not answer for my aimt 

Dinah, was she alive 'faith, scarce for her pictvire were it 

but painted by Reynolds — 

But if I go on with my drawing, after nammg that son of Apollo 
I'll be shot 

So you must e'en be content with the original; which, if the even- 
ing is fine in passing thro' Montreuil, you will see at your chaise- 
door, as you change horses : but unless you have as bad a reason for 

haste as I have — you had better stop: She has a Uttle of the 

devote : but that, sir, is a terce to a nine in your favoiir 

— L — help me ! I could not coimt a single point : so had been 
piqued and repiqued, and capotted to the devil. 



348 



OF TRISTRAM SHANDY 



CHAPTER X 

ALL which being considered, and that Death moreover might 
be much nearer me than I imagined 1 wish I was at 

Abbeville, quoth I, were it only to see how they card and spin 

so off we set. 

de Montr euil a Nampont-poste et demi 

de Nampont a Bernay poste 

de Bernay a Nouvion poste 

de Nouvion a Abbeville - poste 

but the carders and spinners were all gone to bed. 

CHAPTER XI 

WHAT a vast advantage is travelling ! only it heats one ; but 
there is a remedy for that, which you may pick out of the 
next chapter. 

CHAPTER XII 

WAS I in a condition to stipulate with Death, as I am this 
moment with my apothecary, how and where I will take his 

clyster 1 should certainly declare against submitting to it before 

my friends; and therefore I never seriously think upon the mode 
and manner of this great catastrophe, which generally takes up and 
torments my thoughts as much as the catastrophe itself; but I con- 
stantly draw the curtain across it with this wish, that the Disposer 
of all things may so order it, that it happen not to me in my own 

house but rather in some decent inn at home, I know it, 

the concern of my friends, and the last services of wiping my 

brows, and smoothmg my pillow, which the quivering hand of pale 
affection shall pay me, will so crucify my soul, that I shall die of a 
distemper which my physician is not aware of: but in an inn, the 
few cold ofl&ces I wanted, would be purchased with a few guineas, 

and paid me with an undisturbed, but punctual attention 

but mark. This inn should not be the inn at Abbeville if 

there was not another inn in the universe, I would strike that inn 
out of the capitulation : so 

Let the horses be in the chaise exactly by four in the morning 

Yes, by four. Sir, or by Genevieve 1 I'll raise a clatte. in 

the house shall wake the dead. 

349 



THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 



CHAPTER XIII 

"lY^AKE them like unto a wheel," is a bitter sarcasm, as all the 

J.VX learned know, against the grand tour, and that restless 
spirit for making it, which David prophetically foresaw would 
haimt the children of men in the latter days; and therefore, as 
thinketh the great bishop Hall, 'tis one of the severest imprecations 
which David ever utter'd against the enemies of the Lord — and, 
as if he had said, "I wish them no worse luck than always to be 
rolling about" — So much motion, continues he (for he was very 
corpulent) — is so much unquietness; and so much of rest, by the 
same analogy, is so much of heaven. 

Now, I (being very thin) think differently; and that so much of 

motion, is so much of life, and so much of joy and that to stand 

still, or get on but slowly, is death and the devil 

Hollo! Ho! the whole world's asleep! — bring out the 

horses grease the wheels tie on the mail and drive 

a nail into that moulding I'll not lose a moment 

Now the wheel we are talking of, and whereinto (but not where- 
onto, for that would make an Ixion's wheel of it) he curseth his 
enemies, according to the bishop's habit of body, should certainly 
be a post-chaise wheel, whether they were set up in Palestine at that 

time or not and my wheel, for the contrary reasons, must as 

certainly be a cart-wheel groaning round its revolution once in an 
age; and of which sort, were I to turn commentator, I should make 
no scruple to affirm, they had great store in that hilly country. 

I love the Pythagoreans (much more than ever I dare tell my dear 
Jenny) for their "xu)pi.(Tfx6v oltto tov ^wfuxros, cis to /caXws ^tXoo-o<^etv" 

[their] "getting out oj the body, in order to think well." No 

man thinks right, whilst he is in it; blinded as he must be, with 
his congenial humours, and drawn differently aside, as the bishop 

and myself have been, with too lax or too tense a fibre Reason 

is, half of it. Sense; and the measure of heaven itself is but the 
measure of our present appetites and concoctions 

But which of the two, in the present case, do you think to 

be mostly in the wrong? 

You, certainly: quoth she, to disturb a whole family so early. 



350 



OF TRISTRAM SHANDY 



CHAPTER XIV 



B' 



UT she did not know I was under a vow not to shave my 
beard till I got to Paris ; yet I hate to make mys- 
teries of nothing; 'tis the cold cautiousness of one of those little 

souls from which Lessius {lib. it,, de moribus divinis, cap. 24) hath 
made his estimate, wherein he setteth forth, That one Dutch mile, 
cubically multiplied, will allow room enough, and to spare, for eight 
hundred thousand millions, which he supposes to be as great a 
number of souls (counting from the fall of Adam) as can possibly 
be damn'd to the end of the world. 

From what he has made this second estimate imless from 

the parental goodness of God — I don't know — I am much more 
at a loss what could be in Franciscus Ribberd's head, who pretends 
that no less a space than one of two hundred Italian miles multi- 
plied into itself, will be suflScient to hold the like number he 

certainly must have gone upon some of the old Roman souls, of 
which he had rfead, without reflecting how much, by a gradual and 
most tabid decline, in the course of eighteen hundred years, they 
must unavoidably have shrunk so as to have come, when he wrote, 
almost to nothing. 

In Lessius's time, who seems the cooler man, they were as little 
as can be imagined 

We find them less now 

And next winter we shall find them less again; so that if we go 
on from little to less, and from less to nothing, I hesitate not one 
moment to afl&rm, that in half a century, at this rate, we shall have 
no souls at all ; which being the period beyond which I doubt like- 
wise of the existence of the Christian faith, 'twill be one advantage 
that both of 'em will be exactly worn out together. 

Blessed Jupiter! and blessed every other heathen god and god- 
dess! for now ye will all come into play again, and with Priapus at 

your tails what jovial times! but where am I? and into 

what a deUcious riot of things am I rushing? I 1 who must 

be cut short in the midst of my days, and taste no more of 'em than 

what I borrow from my imagination peace to thee, generous 

fool! and let me go on. 



351 



THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 



S°i 



CHAPTER XV 

O hating, I say, to make mysteries of nothing" 

intrusted it with the post-boy, as soon as ever I 
got off the stones ; he gave a crack with his whip to balance the com- 
pliment ; and with the thill-horse trotting, and a sort of an up and a 
down of the other, we danced it along to Ailly au dockers, famed 
in days of yore for the finest chimes in the world; but we danced 
through it without music — the chimes being greatly out of order 
— (as in truth they were through all France). 

And so making all possible speed, from 

Ailly au dockers, I got to Hixcourt, 
from Hixcourt, I got to Pequighay, and 
from Pequignay, I got to Amiens, 
concerning which town I have nothing to inform you, but what I 

have informed you once before and that was — that Janatone 

went there to school. 



CHAPTER XVI 

IN the whole catalogue of those whiffling vexations which come 
pufl&ng across a man's canvass, there is not one of a more teasing 
and tormenting nature, than this particular one which I am going 

to describe and for which (unless y6u travel with an avance- 

courier, which numbers do in order to prevent it) there is no 

help : and it is this. 

That be you in never so kindly a propensity to sleep tho' you 

are passing perhaps through the finest country — upon the best 

roads, and in the easiest carriage for doing it in the world nay, 

was you sure you could sleep fifty miles straight forwards, without 
once opening your eyes — nay, what is more, was you as demon- 
stratively satisfied as you can be of any truth in Euclid, that you 

should upon all accounts be full as well asleep as awake nay, 

perhaps better Yet the incessant returns of paying for the 

horses at every stage, with the necessity thereupon of putting 

your hand into your pocket, and counting out from thence three 
U\Tes fifteen sous (sous by sous), puts an end to so much of the pro- 
ject, that you cannot execute above six miles of it (or supposing 



OF TRISTRAM SHANDY 

it is a post and a half, that is but nine) were it to save your 

soul from destruction. 

— I'll be even with 'em, quoth I, for I'll put the precise sum in 
a piece of paper, and hold it ready in my hand all the way: "Now 
I shall have nothing to do," said I (composing myself to rest), "but 
to drop this gently into the post-boy's hat, and not say a word." 

Then there wants two sous more to drink or there is a 

twelve sous piece of Louis XIV. which will not pass — or a Hvre 
and some odd hards to be brought over from the last stage, which 
Monsieur had forgot; which altercations (as a man cannot dispute 
very well asleep) rouse him : still is sweet sleep retrievable ; and still 
might the flesh weigh down the spirit, and recover itself of these 
blows — but then, by heaven! you have paid but for a single post 
— whereas 'tis a post and a half; and this obUges you to pull out 
your book of post-roads, the print of which is so very small, it forces 
you to open your eyes, whether you will or no: Then Monsieur le 

Cure offers you a pinch of snuff or a poor soldier shews you his 

leg — or a shaveling his box or the priestess of the cistern will 

water your wheels they do not want it but she swears by 

her priesthood (throwing it back) that they do : then you have 

all these points to argue, or consider over in your mind ; in doing of 

which, the rational powers get so thoroughly awakened you 

may get 'em to sleep again as you can. 

It was entirely owing to one of these misfortunes, or I had pass'd 
clean by the stables of Chantilly 

But the postilion first afl&rming, and then persisting in it to 

my face, that there was no mark upon the two sous piece, I open'd 
my eyes to be convinced — and seeing the mark upon it as plain as 
my nose — I leap'd out of the chaise in a passion, and so saw every 

thing at Chantilly in spite. 1 tried it but for three posts and a 

half, but beUeve 'tis the best principle in the world to travel speedily 
upon; for as few objects look very inviting in that mood — you 
have little or nothing to stop you; by which means it was that I 
passed through St. Dennis, without turning my head so much as on 
one side towards the Abby 

Richness of their treasury! stuff and nonsense! bating 

their jewels, which are all false, I would not give three sous for any 

one thing in it, but Jaidas's lantern nor for that either, only 

as it grows dark, it might be of use. 

353 



THE LIFE AXD OPIXIOXS 

CHAPTER X\-n 

CR.\CK, crack crack, crack crack, crack so 
this is Paris I quoth I (continuing in the same mood) — and 

this is Paris I humph! Paris 1 cried I, repeating the name 

the third time 

The first, the finest, the most briUiant 

The streets however are nasty. 

But it looks, I suppose, better than it smells crack, crack 

crack, crack what a fuss thou makesti — as if it con- 
cerned the good people to be informed, that a man with pale face 
and clad in black, had the honour to be driven into Paris at nine 
o'clock at night, by a postilion in a tawny yeUow jerkin, turned up 

with red calamanco — crack, crack crack, crack, crack, 

crack 1 wish thy whip 

But 'tis the spirit of thy nation; so crack — crack on. 

Ha! and no one gives the wall'. but in the School of 

Urbaxity herself, the walls are besh-t — how can you do other- 
wise? 

And prithee when do they light the lamps ? WTiat ? — never in 

the summer months I Ho! 'tis the time of saUads. O rare I 

sallad and soup — soup and saUad — sallad and soup, encort 

'Tis too miuh for sinners. 

Now I cannot bear the barbarity- of it; how can that xmcon- 
scionable coachman talk so much bawdy to that lean horse ? don't 
you see, friend, the streets are so %-illainotisly narrow, that there 
is not room in aU Paris to turn a wheelbarrow? In the grandest 
cit}- of the whole world, it would not have been amiss, if they had 
been left a thought wider; nay, were it only so much in even- single 
street, as that a man might know (was it only for satisfaction) on 
which side of it he was walking. 

One — two — three — four — five — sis — seven — eight — 
— nine — ten. — Ten cook's shops 1 and twice the niimber of 
barbers', and all within three minutes dri^ingI one would think 
that all the cooks in the world, on some great merr}--meeting with 
the barbers, by joint consent had said — Come, let us aU go live 

at Paris : the French love good eating they are all gourmands 

we shall rank high; if their god is their belly -their 

cooks must be gentlemen: and forasmuch as the peri-jng maketh 
the man, and the periviig-maker maketh the perivi-ig — ergo, would 

354 



OF TRISTR.\M SK-VXDY 

the barbers say, we shall rank higher still — we shall be above 
you all — we shall be Capitouls at least — pardi ! we shall all wear 

swords 

— And so, one woiild swear (that is, by candle light, — but 
there is no depending upon it) they continue to do, to this day. 



CHAPTER X\Tn 

THE French are certainly misunderstood : — but whether the 
fault is theirs, in not sufficiently explaining themselves; or 
speaidng \\ith that exact Hmitation and precision which one would 
expect on a point of such importance, and which, moreover, is so 

likely to be contested by us or whether the fault may not be 

altogether on our side, in not understanding their language always 

so critically as to know "what they would be at'' 1 shall not 

decide; but 'tis eNndent to me, when they affirm, '' That they who 
have seen Paris, have seen ervery thing," they must mean to speak 
of those who have seen it by day-Ught. 

As for candle-light — I give it up 1 have said before, there 

was no depending upon it — and I repeat it again ; but not because 
the Ughts and shades are too sharp — or the tints confounded — 
or that there is neither beauty or keeping, &c. ... for that's 
not truth — but it is an uncertain Ught in this respect. That in all 
the five hundred grand Hotels, which they number up to you in 
Paris — and the five hundred good things, at a modest computa- 
tion (for 'tis only allowing one good thing to a Hotel), which by 
candle-hght are best to be seen, felt, heard, and understood (which, 

by the bye, is a quotation from Lilly) the de\il a one of us 

out of fifty, can get oiu- heads fairly thrust in amongst them. 
This is no part of the French computation : 'tis simply this, 
That by the last survey taken in the year one thousand seven 
hundred and sixteen, since which time there have been considerable 
augmentations, Paris doth contain nine hundred streets; (Wz.) 
In the quarter called the City — there are fifty-three streets. 
In St. James of the Shambles, fifty-five streets. 
In St. Oportiine, thirty-four streets. 
In the quarter of the Louvre, twent\--five streets. 
In the Palace Royal, or St. Honorius, forty-nine streets. 
In Mont. Martyr, forty-one streets. 

355 



THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 

In St. Eustace, twenty-nine streets. 

In the Halles, twenty-seven streets. 

In St. Dennis, fifty-five streets. 

In St. Martin, fifty-four streets. 

In St. Paul, or the Mortellerie, twenty-seven streets. 

The Greve, thirty-eight streets. 

In St. Avoy, or the Verrerie, nineteen streets. 

In the Marais, or the Temple, fifty-two streets. 

In St. Antony s, sixty-eight streets. 

In the Place Maubert, eighty-one streets. 

In St. Bennet, sixty streets. 

In St. Andrews de Arcs, fifty-one streets. 

In the quarter of the Luxembourg, sixty-two streets. 

And in that of St. Germain, fifty-five streets, into any of which you 

may walk; and that when you have seen them with all that belongs 

to them, fairly by day-light — their gates, their bridges, their 

squares, their statues and have crusaded it moreover, through 

all their parish-churches, by no means omitting St. Roche and 

Sulpice and to crown all, have taken a walk to the four palaces, 

which you may see, either with or without the statues and pictures, 
just as you chuse — 

Then you will have seen 

but, 'tis what no one needeth to tell you, for you will read 

of it yourself upon the portico of the Louvre, in these words, 

EARTH NO SUCH FOLKS ! — NO FOLKS E'ER SUCH A TOWN AS PARIS 
IS ! SING, DERRY, DERRY, DOW^N. 

The French have a gay way of treating every thing that is Great ; 
and that is all can be said upon it. 



CHAPTER XIX 

IN mentioning the word gay (as in the close of the last chapter) 
it puts one (i. e. an author) in mind of the word spleen 

especially if he has any thing to say upon it : not that by any analysis 
— or that from any table of interest or genealogy, there appears 
much more ground of alliance betwixt them, than betwixt light 
and darkness, or any two of the most unfriendly opposites in 

nature only 'tis an undercraft of authors to keep up a good 

understanding amongst words, as politicians do amongst men — 



OF TRISTRAM SHANDY 

not knowing how near they may be under a necessity of placing 

them to each other which point being now gain'd, and that I 

may place mine exactly to my mind, I write it down here — 



This, upon leaving Chantilly, I declared to be the best principle 
in the world to travel speedily upon; but I gave it only as matter 
of opinion. I still continue in the same sentiments — only I had 
not then experience enough of its working to add this, that though 
you do get on at a tearing rate, yet you get on but uneasily to your- 
self at the same time; for which reason I here quit it entirely, and 
for ever, and 'tis heartily at any one's service — it has spoiled me 
the digestion of a good supper, and brought on a bilious diarrhoea, 
which has brought me back again to my first principle on which 

I set out and with which I shall now scamper it away to the 

banks of the Garonne — 

No; 1 cannot stop a moment to give you the char- 
acter of the people — their genius their manners — their cus- 
toms — their laws their rehgion — their government — their 

manufactures — their commerce — their finances, with all the 
resources and hidden springs which sustain them: qualified as I 
may be, by spending three days and two nights amongst them, and 
during all that time making these things the entire subject of my 
enquiries and reflections 

Still — still I must away the roads are paved — the posts 

are short — the days are long — 'tis no more than noon — I shall 
be at Fontainbleau before the king 

— Was he going there ? not that I know 



CHAPTER XX 

NOW I hate to hear a person, especially if he be a traveller, 
complain that we do not get on so fast in France as we do in 
England; whereas we get on much faster, consideratis considerandis ; 
thereby always meaning, that if you weigh their vehicles with the 
mountains of baggage which you lay both before and behind upon 
them — and then consider their pimy horses, with the very little 
they give them — 'tis a wonder they get on at all : their suffering 
is most unchristian, and 'tis evident thereupon to me, that a French 

357 



THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 

post-horse would not know what in the world to do, was it not for 
the two words ****** and ****** in which there is as much sus- 
tenance, as if you gave him a peck of com : now as these words cost 
nothing, I long from my soul to tell the reader what they are; but 
here is the question — they must be told hir^, plainly, and with the 
most distinct articulation, or it will answer no end — and yet to 
do it in that plain way — though their reverences may laugh at 
it in the bed-chamber — full well I wot, they vdU abuse it in the 
parlovir: for which cause, I have been vohing and revohing in my 
fancy some time, but to no pm-pose, by what clean de\ice or facette 
contrivance I might so modulate them, that whilst I satisfy that ear 
which the reader chuses to lend me — I might not dissatisfy the other 
which he keeps to himself. 

My ink bums my finger to try and when I have 

'twill have a worse consequence it will bum ( I fear) my paper. 

No; 1 dare not 

But if you \\'ish to know how the abbess of AndoUillets and a 
no\ice of her convent got over the difl5culty (only first wishing 
myself all imaginable success) — I'll tell you without the least 
scruple 

CHAPTER XXI 

THE abbess of Andoiiillets, which, if you look into the large 
set of pro\-incial maps now pubhshing at Paris, you will find 
situated amongst the hiUs which dixide Burgundy from Savoy, 
being in danger of an Anchylosis or stiff joint (the sinovi of her 
knee becoming hard by long matins), and ha\ing tried every remedy 

first, prayers and thanksgixing ; then invocations to all the 

saints in heaven promiscuously then particularly to every 

saint who had ever had a stiff leg before her then touching it 

with all the reUques of the convent, principally -R-ith the thigh-bone 

of the man of Lystra, who had been impotent from his youth 

then -^Tapping it up in her veil when she went to bed — then cross- 
•oise her rosary — then bringing in to her aid the secular arm, and 
anointing it with oils and hot fat of animals — then treating it 
with emoUient and resohing fomentations then with poul- 
tices of marsh-mallows, mallows, bonus Henricus, white UUes and 
fenugreek — then taking the woods, I mean the smoak of 'em, 

holding her scapulary across her lap then decoctions of wild 

358 



OF TRISTRAM SHANDY 

chicory, water-cresses, chervil, sweet cecily and cochlearia and 

nothing all this while answering, was prevailed on at last to try the 

hot baths of Bourbon so having first obtain 'd leave of the 

visitor-general to take care of her existence — she ordered all to 
be got ready for her journey: a novice of the convent of about seven- 
teen, who had been troubled with a whitloe in her middle finger, 
by sticking it constantly into the abbess's cast poultices, &c. — 
had gained such an interest, that overlooking a sciatical old niui, 
who might have been set up for ever by the hot-baths of Bourbon, 
Margarita, the Uttle novice, was elected as the companion of the 
journey. 

An old calesh, belonging to the abbess, lined with green frize, 
was ordered to be drawn out into the sun — the gardener of the 
convent being chosen muleteer, led out the t^vo old mules, to clip 
the hair from the rump-ends of their tails, whilst a couple of lay- 
sisters were busied, the one in darning the lining, and the other in 
sewing on the shreds of yellow binding, which the teeth of time had 

vmra veiled the under-gardener dress'd the muleteer's hat in hot 

wine-lees and a taylor sat musically at it, in a shed over-against 

the convent, in assorting four dozen of bells for the harness, whistling 
to each bell, as he tied it on with a thong. 

The carpenter and the smith of Andoiiillets held a council 

of wheels; and by seven, the morning after, all look'd spruce, and 
was ready at the gate of the convent for the hot-baths of Bourbon — 
two rows of the unfortunate stood ready there an hour before. 

The abbess of Atidouillets, supported by Margarita the novice, 
advanced slowly to the calesh, both clad in white, with their black 
rosaries hanging at their breasts 

There was a simple solemnity in the contrast: they entered 

the calesh; and nuns in the same uniform, sweet emblem of inno- 
cence, each occupied a window, and as the abbess and Margarita 
look'd up — each (the sciatical poor mm excepted) — each stream'd 
out the end of her veil in the air — then kiss'd the lily hand which 
let it go: the good abbess and Margarita laid their hands saint-wise 
upon their breasts — look'd up to heaven — then to them — and 
look'd "God bless you, dear sisters." 

I declare I am interested in this story, and wish I had been there. 

The gardener, whom I shall now call the muleteer, was a little, 
hearty, broad-set, good-natured, chattering, toping kind of a fellow, 
who troubled his head very httle with the hows and ivhens of life; so 

359 



THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 

had mortgaged a month of his conventical wages in a borrachio, 
or leathern cask of wine, which he had disposed behind the calesh, 
with a large russet-coloured riding-coat over it, to guard it from the 
sun ; and as the weather was hot, and he not a niggard of his labours, 
walking ten times more than he rode — he found more occasions 
than those of nature, to fall back to the rear of his carriage; till by 
frequent coming and going, it had so happen 'd, that all his wine 
had leak'd out at the legal vent of the borrachio, before one half of 
the journey was finish'd. 

Man is a creature bom to habitudes . The day had been sultry — 
the evening was delicious • — the wine was generous — the Burgun- 
dian hill on which it grew was steep — a little tempting bush over 
the door of a cool cottage at the foot of it, hung vibrating in full 
harmony with the passions — a gentle air rustled distinctly through 
the leaves — " Come — come, thirsty muleteer — come in." 

— The muleteer was a son of Adam; I need not say a word more. 
He gave the mules, each of 'em, a sound lash, and looking in the 
abbess's and Margarita'' s faces (as he did it) — as much as to say 
"here I am" — he gave a second good crack — as much as to say 

to his mules, "get on" so slinking behind, he enter'd the little 

inn at the foot of the hill. 

The muleteer, as I told you, was a little, joyous, chirping fellow, 
who thought not of to-morrow, nor of what had gone before, or 
what was to follow it, provided he got but his scantling of Burgundy, 
and a httle chit-chat along with it; so entering into a long conversa- 
tion, as how he was chief gardener to the convent of Andoilillets, 
Sic. &c., and out of friendship for the abbess and Mademoiselle 
Margarita, who was only in her noviciate, he had come along with 
them from the confines of Savoy, &c, &c. — and as how she had 
got a white swelling by her devotions — and what a nation of herbs 
he had procured to mollify her humours, &c. &c., and that if the 
waters of Bourbon did not mend that leg — she might as well be 
lame of both — &c. &c. &c. — He so contrived his story, as 
absolutely to forget the heroine of it — and with her the little 
no\'ice, and what was a more ticklish point to be forgot than both — 
the two mules ; who being creatures that take advantage of the world, 
inasmuch as their parents took it o f them — and they not being in a 
condition to return the obligation downwards (as men and women 
and beasts are) — they do it side-ways, and long-ways, and back- 
ways — and up hiU, and down hill, and which way they can. 

360 



OF TRISTRAM SHANDY 

Philosophers, with all their ethicks, have never considered this 
rightly — how should the poor muleteer, then in his cups, consider 
it at all ? he did not in the least — 'tis time we do ; let us leave him 
then in the vortex of his element, the happiest and most thoughtless 

of mortal men and for a moment let us look after the mules, 

the abbess, and Margarita. 

By virtue of the muleteer's two last strokes the mules had gone 
quietly on, following their own consciences up the hill, till they had 
conquer'd about one half of it; when the elder of them, a shrewd 
crafty old devil, at the turn of an angle, giving a side glance, and 
no muleteer behind them 

By my fig! said she, swearing, I'll go no further And if I do, 

repUed the other, they shall make a drum of my hide. 

And so with one consent they stopp'd thus 



CHAPTER XXII 

GET on with you, said the abbess, 
Wh ysh ysh cried Margarita. 

She a shu shu — u — sh — aw shaw'd 

the abbess. 

Whu — V — w whew — w — w — whuv'd Margarita, 

pursing up her sweet hps betwixt a hoot and a whistle. 

Thump — thump — thump — obstreperated the abbess of An- 
doiiillets with the end of her gold-headed cane against the bottom 
of the calesh 

The old mule let a f — 



CHAPTER XXIII 

WE are ruin'd and undone, my child, said the abbess to Mar- 
garita, we shall be here all night we shall be plun- 

der'd we shall be ravish'd 

We shall be ravish'd, said Margarita, as sure as a gim. 

Sancta Maria I cried the abbess (forgetting the O/) — why was I 
govern 'd by this wicked stiff joint? why did I leave the convent of 
Andoiiillets? and why didst thou not sufiEer thy servant to go unpol- 
luted to her tomb ? 

361 



THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 

O my finger! my finger! cried the novice, catching fire at the word 
servant — why was I not content to put it here, or there, any where 
rather than be in this strait? 

Strait! said the abbess. 

Strait said the novice; for terror had struck their under- 
standings the one knew not what she said the other what 

she answer 'd. 

O my virginity! virginity! cried the abbess. 

inity! inity! said the novice, sobbing. 



CHAPTER XXIV 

MY dear mother, quoth the novice, coming a little to herself, 
there are two certain words, which I have been told will force 
any horse, or ass, or mule, to go up a hill whether he will or no; be he 
never so obstinate or iU-will'd, the moment he hears them utter'd, 
he obeys. They are words magic! cried the abbess in the utmost 
horror — No; rephed Margarita calmly — but they are words 
sinful — What are they? quoth the abbess, inten-upting her: They 
are sinful in the first degree, answered Margarita, — they are mortal 
— and if we are ravish 'd and die unabsolved of them, we shall 

both but you may pronoimce them to me, quoth the abbess of 

Andouillets They cannot, my dear mother, said the novice, be 

pronounced at all; they will make all the blood in one's body fly 
up into one's face — But you may whisper them in my ear, quoth 
the abbess. 

Heaven! hadst thou no guardian angel to delegate to the inn at 
the bottom of the hill? was there no generous and friendly spirit 

unemployed no agent in nature, by some monitory shivering, 

creeping along the artery which led to his heart, to rouse the muleteer 

from his banquet ? no sweet minstrelsy to bring back the fair 

idea of the abbess and Margarita, with their black rosaries! 

Rouse! rouse! but 'tis too late — the horrid words are pro- 
nounced this moment 

and how to tell them — Ye, who can speak of every thing 

existing, with unpolluted lips — instruct me guide me 



362 



OF TRISTRAM SHANDY 



CHAPTER XXV 

ALL sins whatever, quoth the abbess, turning casuist in the 
distress they were under, are held by the confessor of our 
convent to be either mortal or venial: there is no fiirther division. 
Now a venial sin being the shghtest and least of all sins — being 
halved — by taking either only the half of it, and leaving the rest — 
or, by taking it all, and amicably halving it betwixt yourself and 
another person — in course becomes diluted into no sin at all. 

Now I see no sin in saying, bou, bou, boii, boti, bou, a hundred 
times together; nor is there any tiu-pitude in pronouncing the 
syllable ger, ger, ger, ger, ger, were it from ovtr matins to our vespers: 
Therefore, my dear daughter, continued the abbess of AndouiUets — 
I will say bou, and thou shalt say ger; and then alternately, as there 
is no more sin in fou than in bou — Thou shalt say fou — and I 
will come in (Uke fa, sol, la, re, mi, ut, at our complines) with ter. 
And accordingly the abbess, giving the pitch note, set off thus: 

Abbess, ) Bou bou bou 

Margarita, \ ger, ger, ger. 

Margarita, ) Fou fou fou 

Abbess, ) ter, ter, ter. 

The two mules acknowledged the notes by a mutual lash of their 

tails; but it went no further 'Twill answer by an' by, said the 

novice. 

Abbess, ) Bou- bou- bou- bou- bou- bou- 

Margarita, ) — ger, ger, ger, ger, ger, ger. 

Quicker still, cried Margarita. 

Fou, fou, fou, fou, fou, fou, fou, fou, fou. 

Quicker still, cried Margarita. 

Bou, bou, bou, bou, bou, bou, bou, bou, bou. 

Quicker still — God preserve me; said the abbess — They do 
not understand us, cried Margarita — But the Devil does, said the 
abbess of AndouiUets. 

CHAPTER XXVI 

WHAT a tract of country have I run! — how many degrees 
nearer to the warm sun am I advanced, and how many fair 
and goodly cities have I seen, during the time you have been read- 
ing, and reflecting. Madam, upon this story! There's Fontain- 

363 



THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 

BLEAU, and Sens, and Joigny, and Auxerre, and Dijon the capi- 
tal of Burgundy, and Challon, and Mdcon the capital of the 

Mdconese, and a score more upon the road to Lyons and now 

I have run them over 1 might as well talk to you of so many 

market towns in the moon, as tell you one word about them : it will 
be this chapter at the least, if not both this and the next entirely 
lost, do what I will 

— Why, 'tis a strange story! Tristram. 

Alas! Madam, 

had it been upon some melancholy lecture of the cross — the peace 

of meekness, or the contentment of resignation 1 had not been 

incommoded : or had I thought of v^oriting it upon the purer abstrac- 
tions of the soul, and that food of wisdom and holiness and contem- 
plation, upon which the spirit of man (when separated from the 

body) is to subsist for ever You would have come with a better 

appetite from it 

1 wish I never had wrote it: but as I never blot any thing out 

let us use some honest means to get it out of ovu: heads directly, 

Pray reach me my fool's cap 1 fear you sit upon it. 

Madam 'tis under the cushion I'll put it on 

Bless me! you have had it upon your head this half hour. 

There then let it stay, with a 

Fa-ra diddle di 

and a fa-ri diddle d 

and a high-dum — dye-dum 

fiddle dumb - c. 

And now, Madam, we may venture, I hope, a little to go on. 



CHAPTER XXVII 

A LL you need say of Fontainhleau (in case you are ask'd) 

jr\. is, that it stands about forty miles (south something) 
from Paris, in the middle of a large forest That there is some- 
thing great in it That the king goes there once every two or 

three years, with his whole court, for the pleasure of the chase — 
and that, during that carnival of sporting, any English gentleman of 
fashion (you need not forget yourself) may be acconamodated with a 
nag or two, to partake of the sport, taking care only not to out-gallop 
the king 

364 



OF TRISTRAM SHANDY 

Though there are two reasons why you need not talk loud of this 
to every one. 

First, Because 'twill make the said nags the harder to be got; and 

Secondly, 'Tis not a word of it true. Allans 1 

As for Sens you may dispatch — in a word "Tw 

an archiepiscopal seeP 

For JoiGNY — the less, I think, one says of it the better. 

But for AuxERRE — I could go on for ever : for in my grand lour 
through Europe^ in which, after all, my father (not caring to trust 
me with any one) attended me himself, with my uncle Tohy, and 
Trim, and Obadiah, and indeed most of the family, except my 
mother, who being taken up with a project of knitting my father a 
pair of large worsted breeches — (the thing is common sense) — 
and she not caring to be put out of her way, she staid at home, at 
Shandy Hall, to keep things right during the expedition ; in which, 
I say, my father stopping us two days at Auxerre, and his researches 
being ever of such a nature, that they would have found fruit even 

in a desert he has left me enough to say upon Auxerre: in 

short, wherever my father went but 'twas more remarkably so, 

in this journey through France and Italy, than in any other stages 

of his Ufe his road seemed to he so much on one side of that, 

wherein all other travellers have gone before him — he saw kings 

and courts and silks of all colours, in such strange hghts and 

his remarks and reasonings upon the characters, the manners, and 
customs of the countries we pass'd over, were so opposite to those of 
all other mortal men, particularly those of my uncle Toby and Trim 

— (to say nothing of myself) — and to crown all — the occurrences 
and scrapes which we were perpetually meeting and getting into, in 
consequence of his systems and opiniatry — they were of so odd, so 
mix'd and tragi-comical a contexture — That the whole put to- 
gether, it appears of so different a shade and tint from any tour of 
Europe, which was ever executed — that I will venture to pronounce 

— the fault must be mine and mine only — if it be not read by all 
travellers and travel-readers, till travelling is no more, — or which 
comes to the same point — till the world, finally, takes it into its 
head to stand still. 

But this rich bale is not to be open'd now; except a small 

thread or two of it, merely to unravel the mystery of my father's 
stay at Auxerre. 

365 



THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 

As I have mentioned it — 'tis too slight to be kept suspended ; 

and when 'tis wove in, there is an end of it. 

We'll go, brother Tohy, said my father, whilst dinner is coddling 
— to the abby of Saint Germnin, if it be only to see these bodies, 

of which Monsieur Sequier has given such a recommendation. 

I'll go see any body, quoth my imcle Tohy; for he was all com- 

pUance through every step of the journey Defend me! said 

my father — they are all mummies Then one need not shave; 

quoth my uncle Toby Shave! no — cried my father — 'twill 

be more hke relations to go with our beards on — So out we sallied, 
the corporal lending his master his arm, and bringing up the rear, 
to the abby of Saint Germain. 

Every thing is very fine, and very rich, and very superb, and 
very magnificent, said my father, addressing himself to the sacristan, 
who was a yovmger brother of the order of Benedictines — but our 
curiosity has led us to see the bodies, of which Monsieur Sequier 
has given the world so exact a description. — The sacristan made 
a bow, and Hghting a torch first, which he had always in the vestry 

ready for the purpose; he led us into the tomb of St. Heribald 

This, said the sacristan, la}ing his hand upon the tomb, was a 
renowned prince of the house of Bavaria, who under the successive 
reigns of Charlemagne, Louis le Debonnair, and Cfiarles the Bald, 
bore a great sway in the government, and had a principal hand in 
bringing every thing into order and discipline 

Then he has been as great, said my imcle, in the field, as in the 

cabinet 1 dare say he has been a gallant soldier He was 

a monk — said the sacristan. 

My imcle Toby and Trim sought comfort in each other's faces — 
but fotmd it not: my father clapped both his hands upon his cod- 
piece, which was a way he had when any thing hugely tickled him: 
for though he hated a monk and the very smell of a monk worse 

than all the devils in hell yet the shot hitting my uncle Toby 

and Trim so much harder than him, 'tn-as a relative triumph; and 
put him into the gayest humour in the world. 

And pray what do you call this gentleman? quoth my 

father, rather sportingly: This tomb, said the yoimg Benedictine, 
looking downwards, contains the bones of Saint Maxima, who 
came from Ravenn<i on purpose to touch the body 

Of Saint M.\xrMrs, said my father, popping in with his 

saint before him, — they were two of the greatest saints in the whole 
366 



OF TRISTRAM SHANDY 

martyrology, added my father Excuse me, said the sacristan 

'twas to touch the bones of Saint Germain, the builder of 

the abby And what did she get by it ? said my uncle Tohy 

What does any woman get by it ? said my father Martyr- 
dome; repUed the young Benedictine, making a bow down to the 
ground, and uttering the word with so humble, but decisive a 
cadence, it disarmed my father for a moment. 'Tis supposed, 
continued the Benedictine, that St. Maxima has lain in this tomb 

four hundred years, and two hundred before her canonization 

'Tis but a slow rise, brother Toby, quoth my father, in this self- 
same army of martyrs. A desperate slow one, an' please your 

honour, said Trim, unless one could purchase 1 should rather 

sell out entirely, quoth my uncle Toby 1 am pretty much of 

your opinion, brother Toby, said my father. 

Poor St. Maximal said my vmcle Toby low to himself, as 

we tum'd from her tomb: She was one of the fairest and most 
beautiful ladies either of Italy or France, continued the sacristan 

But who the duce has got lain down here, besides her ? quoth 

my father, pointing with his cane to a large tomb as we walked 

on It is Saint Optat, Sir, answered the sacristan And 

properly is Saint Optat plac'd! said my father: And what is Saint 
OptaVs story? continued he. Saint Optat, replied the sacristan, 
was a bishop 

1 thought so, by heaven! cried my father, interrupting 

him Saint Optat how should Saint Optat fail ? so snatch- 
ing out his pocket-book, and the young Benedictine holding him 
the torch as he ^\Tote, he set it down as a new prop to his system 
of Christian names, and I will be bold to say, so disinterested was 
he in the search of truth, that had he found a treasure in Saint 
Optafs tomb, it would not have made him half so rich: 'Twas as 
successful a short visit as ever was paid to the dead; and so highly 
was his fancy pleas'd with all that had passed in it, — that he 
determined at once to stay another day in Auxerre. 

— I'll see the rest of these good gentry to-morrow, said my father, 
as we cross'd over the square — And while you are paying that 
visit, brother Shandy, quoth my uncle Toby — the corporal and 
I will mount the ramparts. 



367 



N' 



THE LIFE AND OPIXIOXS 



CH.\PTER XX\'in 

O W this is the most puzzled skein of all for in this 

last chapter, as far at least as it has help'd me through 
Aux^rrc, I have been getting forwards in two different joumies 
together, and with the same dash of the pen — for I have got 
entirelv out of Auxerre in this jotimey which I am writing now, and 
I am got half way out of Auxerre in that which I shall write here- 

afto- There is but a certain degree of perfection in ever}- thing; 

and by pushing at something beyond that. I have brought myself 
into such a situation, as no traveller ever stood before me; for I am 
this mMnent walking across the market-place of Auxerre with my 

father and my uncle Tohy, in our way back to dinner and I 

am this momait also entering Lyons with my post-chaise broke into 
a thousand pieces — and I am moreover this moment in a handsome 
pavfllion built by PringeUo, upon the banks of the Garonne, which 
!Mons. SJignwc has lent me, and where I now sit rhapsodising all 
these affairs. 
Let me collect m}-self. and pursue my journey. 

CIL\PTER XXEX 

IXSi glad of it said I, settling the account with myself, as I 
walk'd into Lyons my chaise being aU laid higgledy- 
piggledy with my baggage in a cart, which was mo%-ing slowly before 

me 1 am heartily glad, said I, that 'tis all broke to pieces; for 

now I can go directly by water to AzHgnon, which will carry me on a 
hundred and twoity miles of my journey, and not cost me seven 

livres- and from thence, continued I, bringing forwards the 

account, I can hire a couple of mules — or asses, if I like, (for 
nobody knows me) and cross the plains of Languedoc for almost 

nothing 1 shall gain four hundred livres by the misfortune 

clear into my purse: and pleasure! worth — worth double the money 
by it. "^Ith what velocity, continued I, clapping my two hands 
together, shall I fly down the rapid RJione, with the \'n'ARF.s on my 
right hand, and Dalphixy on my left scarce seeing the ancient 
cities of ^'IES>s■E, Valence, and Vhneres. "^Tiat a flame wfll it 
rekindle in the lamp, to snatch a blushing grape from the Hermilage 
and Cote rati, as I shoot by the foot of them! and what a fresh spring 
in the blood! to behold upon the banks advancing and retiring, the 
368 



OF TRISTR-\M SIL\XDY 

castles of romance, whence courteous knights have whilome rescued 

the distress'd and see vertiginous, the rocks, the mountains, 

the cataracts, and all the hum- which Nature is in \\-ith all her great 
works about her. 

As I went on thus, methought my chaise, the -nTeck of which 
look'd stately enough at the first, insensibly grew less and less in its 
size; the freshness of the painting was no more — the gilding lost 
its lustre — and the whole affair appeared so poor in my eyes — so 
sorr\'! — so contemptible! and, in a word, so much worse than the 
abbess of AndouiUets' itself — that I was just opening my mouth to 
give it to the de^il — when a pert vamping chaise-undertaker, 
stepping nimbly across the street, demanded if Monsieur would 
have his chaise refitted No, no, said I, shaking my head side- 
ways — Would Monsieur chuse to seU it ? rejoined the undertaker — 
With all my soul, said I — the iron work is worth fort}- UxTes — 
and the glasses worth forty more — and the leather you may take 
to Uve on. 

A\Tiat a mine of wealth, quoth I, as he counted me the money, 
has this post-chaise brought me in ? And this is my usual method 
of book-keeping, at least with the disasters of Hfe — making a penny 
of ever}' one of 'em as they happen to me 

Do, my dear Jenny, tell the world for me, how I behaved 

under one, the most oppressive of its kind, which could befal me as 
a man, proud as he ought to be of his manhood 

'Tis enough, saidst thou, coming close up to me, as I stood with 

my garters in my hand, reflecting upon what had not pass'd 

'Tis enough, Tristram, and I am satisfied, saidst thou, whispering 
these words in my ear, **** ** **** *** ****** ; _ **** ** ** 
any other man would have simk down to the center 

Ever}- thing is good for something, quoth I. 

I'll go into Wales for sLx weeks, and drink goat's whey — 

and I'll gain seven years longer hfe for the accident. For which 
reason I think myself inexcusable, for blaming fortime so often as 
I have done, for pelting me all my Hfe long, like an vmgracious 
duchess, as I call'd her, with so many small e\-ils: surely, if I have 
any cause to be angry with her, 'tis that she has not sent me great 
ones — a score of good cursed, bouncing losses, would have been as 
good as a pension to me. 

One of a hundred a year, or so, is all I wish — I would not 

be at the plague of paying land-tax for a larger. 

369 



THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 



CHAPTER XXX 

TO those who call vexations, vexations, as knowing what they 
are, there could not be a greater, than to be the best part of a 
day at Lyons, the most opulent and flourishing city in France, 
enriched with the most fragments of antiquity — and not be able to 
see it. To be withheld upon any account, must be a vexation; 

but to be withheld hy a vexation must certainly be, what 

philosophy justly calls 

VEXATION 



VEXATION 

I had got my two dishes of milk coffee (which by the bye is 
excellently good for a consumption, but you must boil the milk and 
coffee together — otherwise 'tis only coffee and milk) — and as it 
was no more than eight in the morning, and the boat did not go off 
till noon, I had time to see enough of Lyons to tire the patience of 
all the friends I had in the world with it. I ^vill take a walk to the 
cathedral, said I, looking at my Ust, and see the wonderful mechan- 
ism of this great clock of Lippius of Basil, in the first place 

Now, of all things in the world, I understand the least of mechan- 
ism 1 have neither genius, or taste, or fancy — and have a 

brain so entu-ely unapt for every thing of that kind, that I solemnly 
declare I was never yet able to comprehend the principles of motion 
of a squirrel cage, or a common knife-grinder's wheel — tho' I have 
many an hour of my Ufe look'd up with great devotion at the one — 
and stood by with as much patience as any christian ever could do, 
at the other 

I'll go see the surprising movements of this great clock, said I, 
the very first thing I do: and then I will pay a visit to the great Ubrary 
of the Jesuits, and procure, if possible, a sight of the thirty volumes 
of the general history of China, wrote (not in the Tartarean, but) 
in the Chinese language, and in the Chinese character too. 

Now I almost know as Uttle of the Chinese language, as I do of the 
mechanism of Lippius' s clock-work; so, why these should have 

jostled themselves into the two first articles of my list 1 leave 

to the curious as a problem of Nature. I ovm it looks like one of 
her ladyship's obhquities; and they who court her, are interested in 
finding out her humoiu: as much as I. 
370 



OF TRISTRAM SHANDY 

When these curiosities are seen, quoth I, half addressing myself 

to my valet de place, who stood behind me 'twill be no hurt if 

we go to the church of St. IrencBus, and see the pillar to which 

Christ was tied and after that, the house where Pontius Pilate 

lived 'Twas at the next town, said the valet de place — at Vienne; 

I am glad of it, said I, rising briskly from my chair, and walking 

across the room with strides twice as long as my usual pace 

" for so much the sooner shall I be at the Tomb of the two lovers.''^ 

What was the cause of this movement, and why I took such long 

strides in uttering this 1 might leave to the curious too; but as 

no principle of clock-work is concerned in it 'twill be as well 

for the reader if I explain it myself. 



CHAPTER XXXI 

O THERE is a sweet aera in the life of man, when (the brain 
being tender and fibrillous, and more Hke pap than any thing 

else) a story read of two fond lovers, separated from each other 

by cruel parents, and by still more cruel destiny 

Amandus He 

Amanda She 

each ignorant of the other's course, 

He east 

She west 

Amandus taken captive by the Turks, and carried to the emperor 
of Moroccans court, where the princess of Morocco falUng in love 
with him, keeps him twenty years in prison for the love of his 

Amanda. 

She — (Amanda) all the time wandering barefoot, and with 
dishevell'd hair, o'er rocks and mountains, enquiring for Amandus! 

Amandus/ Amandus/ — making every hill and valley to 

echo back his name 

A mandus / A mandus / 

at every town and city, sitting down forlorn at the gate Has 

Amandus / — has my Amandus enter'd ? till, going round, 

and round, and round the world chance unexpected bringing 

them at the same moment of the night, though by different ways, 
to the gate of Lyons, their native city, and each in well-known 
accents calling out aloud. 

371 



THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 
Is Amandus 



T A J I Still alive? 

Is my Amanda 

they fly into each other's arms, and both drop down dead for joy. 

There is a soft aera in every gentle mortal's Ufe, where such a story 
affords more pabulum to the brain, than all the Frusts, and Crusts, 
and Rusts of antiquity, which travellers can cook up for it. 

'Twas all that stuck on the right side of the cuUender in my 

own, of what Spon and others, in their accounts of Lyons, had 
strained into it; and finding, moreover, in some Itinerary, but in 

what God knows That sacred to the fidelity of Amandus and 

Amanda, a tomb was built without the gates, where, to this hour, 

lovers called upon them to attest their truths 1 never could get 

into a scrape of that kind in my Ufe, but this tomb of the lovers would, 
somehow or other, come in at the close nay such a kind of em- 
pire had it estabhsh'd over me, that I could seldom think or speak 
of Lyons — and sometimes not so much as see even a Lyons-waist- 
coat, but this remnant of antiquity would present itself to my fancy; 

and I have often said in my wild way of running on tho' I fear 

with some irreverence " I thought this shrine (neglected as it 

was) as valuable as that of Mecca, and so httle short, except in 
wealth, of the Santa Casa itself, that some time or other, I would go 
a pilgrimage (though I had no other business at Lyons) on purpose 
to pay it a visit." 

In my Hst, therefore, of Videnda at Lyons, this, tho' last, — was 
not, you see, least; so taking a dozen or two of longer strides than 
usual across my room, just whilst it passed my brain, I walked down 
calmly into the Basse Cour, in order to sally forth; and having called 
for my bill — as it was uncertain whether I should return to my inn, 

I had paid it had moreover given the maid ten sous, and was 

just receiving the dernier compUments of Monsievu: Le Blanc, for a 

pleasant voyage down the Rhdne when I was stopped at the 

gate 

CHAPTER XXXII 

"* I '*WAS by a poor ass, who had just turned in with a couple 

A of large panniers upon his back, to collect eleemosynary 
turnip-tops and cabbage-leaves; and stood dubious, with his two 
fore-feet on the inside of the threshold, and with his two hinder feet 
towards the street, as not knowing very well whether he was to go in 
or no. 

372 



OF TRISTRAM SHANDY 

Now, 'tis an animal (be in what hurry I may) I cannot bear to 

strike there is a patient endurance of sufferings, wrote so una- 

affectedly in his looks and carriage, which pleads so mightily for 
him, that it always disarms me; and to that degree, that I do not 
Uke to speak unkindly to him: on the contrary, meet him where I 
will — whether in town or country — in cart or under panniers — 

whether in Uberty or bondage 1 have ever something civil to 

say to him on my part; and as one word begets another (if he has as 

Httle to do as I) 1 generally fall into conversation with him; and 

surely never is my imagination so busy as in framing his responses 
from the etchings of his countenance — and where those carry me 

not deep enough in flying from my own heart into his, and 

seeing what is natural for an ass to think — as well as a man, upon 
the occasion. In truth, it is the only creature of all the classes of be- 
ings below me, with whom I can do this: for parrots, jackdaws, &c. 

1 never exchange a word with them nor with the apes, 

&c., for pretty near the same reason; they act by rote, as the others 
speak by it, and equally make me silent: nay my dog and my cat, 

though I value them both (and for my dog he would speak if 

he could) — yet somehow or other, they neither of them possess 

the talents for conversation 1 can make nothing of a discourse 

with them, beyond the proposition, the reply, and rejoinder, which 
terminated my father's and my mother's conversations, in his beds 
of justice and those utter'd there's an end of the dialogue 

— But with an ass, I can commune for ever. 

Come, Honesty I said I, seeing it was impracticable to pass 

betwixt him and the gate art thou for coming in, or going out? 

The ass twisted his head round to look up the street 

Well — repUed I — we'll wait a minute for thy driver: 

He turned his head thoughtfully about, and looked wistfully 

the opposite way 

I understand thee perfectly, answered I If thou takest a 

wrong step in this affair, he will cudgel thee to death Well! a 

minute is but a minute, and if it saves a fellow-creature a drubbing, 
it shall not be set down as ill spent. 

He was eating the stem of an artichoke as this discourse went on, 
and in the little peevish contentions of nature betwixt hunger and 
unsavoviriness, had dropt it out of his mouth half a dozen times, 
and pick'd it up again God help thee, Jack ! said I, thou hast 

373 



THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 

a bitter breakfast on' t — and many a bitter day's labour, — and 

many a bitter blow, I fear, for its wages 'tis all — all bitterness 

to thee, whatever hfe to is others. And now thy mouth, if one 

knew the truth of it, is as bitter, I dare say, as soot — (for he had 
cast aside the stem) and thou hast not a friend perhaps in all this 

world, that will give thee a macaroon. In saving this, I pull'd 

out a paper of 'em, which I had just purchased, and gave him one — 
and at this moment that I am teUing it, my heart smites me, that 
there was more of pleasantry in the conceit, of seeing how an ass 

would eat a macaroon than of benevolence in gixing him one, 

which presided in the act. 

When the ass had eaten his macaroon, I press'd him to come 

in the poor beast was heaAT loaded his legs seem'd to 

tremble under him he himg rather backwards, and as I pull'd 

at his halter, it broke short in my hand he look'd up pensive 

in my face — " Don't thrash me with it — but if you will, you 
may" If I do, said I, I'U be d d. 

The word was but one-half of it pronounced, like the abbess of 
Andouillets' — (so there was no sin in it) — when a person coming 
in, let fall a thimdering bastinado upon the poor devil's crupper, 
which put an end to the ceremony. 
Out upon it I 

cried I but the interjection was equivocal and, I think, 

wTong placed too — for the end of an osier which had started out 
from the contexture of the ass's pannier, had caught hold of my 
breeches pocket, as he rush'd by me, and rent it in the most disas- 
trous direction you can imagine so that the 

Out upon it 1 in my opinion, should have come in here but 

this I leave to be settled by 

THE 

REVIEWERS 

OF 

MY BREECHES, 

which I have brought over along \\-ith me for that purpose. 



374 



OF TRISTRAM SHANDY 



CHAPTER XXXIII 

WHEN all was set to rights, I came down stairs again into the 
basse coiir with, my valet de place, in order to sally out towards 
the tomb of the two lovers, &c. — and was a second time stopp'd 

at the gate not by the ass — but by the person who struck 

him ; and who, by that time, had taken possession (as is not uncom- 
mon after a defeat) of the very spot of ground where the ass stood. 

It was a commissary sent to me from the post-ofl5ce, with a 
rescript in his hand for the payment of some six n\Tes odd sous. 

Upon what accovmt ? said I. 'Tis upon the part of the king, 

rephed the commissary, heaving up both his shoulders 

My good friend, quoth I as sitre as I am I — and you 

are you 

And who are you? said he Don't puzzle me; 

said I. 



B' 



CHAPTER XXXIV 

UT it is an indubitable verity, continued I, addressing 
myself to the commissary, changing only the form of 

my asserveration that I owe the king of France nothing but 

my good-will; for he is a very honest man, and I wish him all health 
and pastime in the world 

Pardonnez moi — repUed the commissary, you are indebted to 
him six livres four sous, for the next post from hence to St. Fons, 
in your route to Avignon — which being a post royal, you pay 
double for the horses and postillion — otherwise 'twould have 
amounted to no more than three h\Tes two sous 

But I don't go by land ; said I. 

You may if you please ; repHed the commissary 

Your most obedient servant said I, making him a low 

bow 

The commissary, with all the sincerity of grave good breeding — 

made me one, as low again. 1 never was more disconcerted 

with a bow in my life. 

The devil take the serious character of these people ! quoth 

I — (aside) they understand no more of irony than this 

The comparison was standing close by with his panniers — but 
something seal'd up my lips — I could not pronounce the name — 

375 



THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 

Sir, said I, collecting myself — it is not my intention to take 
post 

— But you may — said he, persisting in his first reply — you 
may take post if you chuse 

— And I may take salt to my pickled herring, said I, if I 
chuse 

— But I do not chuse — 

— But you must pay for it, whether you do or no. Aye! for the 
salt; said I (I know) 

— And for the post too; added he. Defend me! cried I 

I travel by water — I am going down the Rhone this very after- 
noon — my baggage is in the boat — and I have actually paid nine 
Uvres for my passage 

Oest tout egal — 'tis all one; said he. 

Bon Dieu I what, pay for the way I go! and for the way I do not 
go! 

Oest tout egal ; replied the commissary 

The devil it is! said I — but I will go to ten thousand Bastiles 

first 

England t England ! thou land of liberty, and cUmate of good 
sense, thou tenderest of mothers — and gentlest of nurses, cried I, 
kneeling upon one knee, as I was beginning my apostrophe- 

When the director of Madam Le Blanc's conscience coming in 
at that instant, and seeing a person in black, with a face as pale as 
ashes, at his devotions — looking still paler by the contrast and 
distress of his drapery — ask'd, if I stood in want of the aids of the 
church 

1 go by WATER — said I — and here's another will be for making 
me pay for going by oil. 



CHAPTER XXXV 

AS I perceived the commissary of the post-office would have his 
six Uvres four sous, I had nothing else for it, but to say some 
smart thing upon the occasion, worth the money 

And so I set off thus: 

And pray, Mr. Commissary, by what law of courtesy is a 

defenceless stranger to be used just the reverse from what you use a 
Frenchman in this matter? 

376 



OF TRISTRAM SHANDY 

By no means ; said he. 

Excuse me; said I — for you have begun, Sir, with first tearing off 
my breeches — and now you want my pocket 

Whereas — had you first taken my pocket, as you do with your 
own people — and then left me bare a — 'd after — I had been a 
beast to have complain'd 

As it is 

'Tis contrary to the law of nature. 

'Tis contrary to reason. 

'Tis contrary to the gospel. 

But not to this said he — putting a printed paper into my 

hand, 

PAR LE ROY 

'Tis a pithy prolegomenon, quoth I — and so read on 



By all which it appears, quoth I, having read it over, a Httle 

too rapidly, that if a man sets out in a post-chaise from Paris — he 
must go on travelling in one, all the days of his Hfe — or pay for it. — 
Excuse me, said the commissary, the spirit of the ordinance is this — 
That if you set out with an intention of nmning post from Paris 
to Avignon, &c., you shall not change that intention or mode of 
travelUng, without first satisfying the fermiers for two posts further 
than the place you repent at — and 'tis founded, continued he, upon 
this, that the revenues are not to fall short through your fickleness — 

O by heavens! cried I — if fickleness is taxable in France — 

we have nothing to do but to make the best peace with you we can — 

AND so THE PEACE WAS MADE; 

And if it is a bad one — as Tristram Shandy laid the corner- 
stone of it — nobody but Tristram Shandy ought to be hanged. 



377 



THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 



CHAPTER XXXVI 

THOUGH I was sensible I had said as many clever things 
to the commissary as came to six Uvres four sous, yet I was 
determined to note down the imposition amongst my remarks before 
I retired from the place ; so putting my hand into my coat-pocket for 
my remarks — (which, by the bye, may be a caution to travellers 
to take a little more care of their remarks for the future) " my re- 
marks were stolen" Never did sorry traveller make such a 

pother and racket about his remarks as I did about mine, upon the 
occasion. 

Heaven! earth! sea! fire! cried I, calling in every thing to my aid 

but what I should My remarks are stolen ! — what shall I 

do? Mr. Commissary! pray did I drop any remarks, as I stood 

besides you ? 

You dropp'd a good many very singular ones; replied he 

Pugh! said I, those were but a few, not worth above six livres two 

sous — but these are a large parcel He shook his head 

Monsieur Le Blanc I Madam Le Blanc ! did you see any papers of 
mine ? — you maid of the house! rim up stairs — Frangois 1 rwn. up 
after her 

— I must have my remarks they were the best remarks, 

cried I, that ever were made — the wisest — the wittiest — What 
shall I do? — which way shall I turn myself? 

Sancho Panga, when he lost his ass's furnitiire, did not exclaim 
more bitterly. 

CHAPTER XXXVn 

WHEN the first transport was over, and the registers of the 
brain were beginning to get a little out of the confusion into 
which this jumble of cross accidents had cast them — it then 
presently occurr'd to me, that I had left my remarks in the pocket 
of the chaise — and that in selling my chaise, I had sold my remarks 
along with it, to the chaise-vamper. I leave this 

void space that the reader may swear into it any oath that he is 

most accustomed to For my own part, if ever I swore a whole 

oath into a vacancy in my life, I think it was into that 

*********j said I — and so my remarks through France, which 
378 



OF TRISTRAM SHANDY 

were as full of wit, as an egg is full of meat, and as well worth four 
hundred guineas, as the said egg is worth a penny — have I been 
selling here to a chaise-vamper — for four Louis d'Ors — and 
giving him a post-chaise (by heaven) worth six into the bargain; 
had it been to Dodsley, or Becket, or any creditable bookseller, who 
was either leaving oflf business, and wanted a post-chaise — or who 
was beginning it — and wanted my remarks, and two or three 

guineas along with them — I could have borne it but to a 

chaise-vamper ! — shew me to him this moment, Francois, — said 
I — The valet de place put on his hat, and led the way — and I 
pull'd off mine, as I pass'd the commissary, and followed him. 



CHAPTER XXXVIII 

WHEN we arrived at the chaise-vamper 's house, both the house 
and the shop were shut up; it was the eighth of September, 
the nativity of the blessed Virgin Mary, mother of God — 

Tantarra-ra-tan-tivi the whole world was gone out a 

May-poling — frisking here — capering there nobody cared 

a button for me or my remarks ; so I sat me down upon a bench by 
the door, philosophating upon my condition: by a better fate than 
usually attends me, I hal not waited half an hour, when the mistress 
came in to take the papilliotes from off her hair, before she went 
to the May-poles 

The French women, by the bye, love May-poles, a la jolie — 

;hat is, as much as their matins give 'em but a May-pole, 

whether in May, June, July, or September — they never count the 

times down it goes 'tis meat, drink, washing, and lodging 

to 'em and had we but the policy, an' please your worships 

(as wood is a little scarce in France), to send them but plenty of 
May-poles 

The women would set them up; and when they had done, they 
would dance round them (and the men for company) till they were 
all blind. 

The wife of the chaise-vamper stepp'd in, I told you, to take 

the papilliotes from off her hair the toilet stands still for no 

man — so she jerk'd off her cap, to begin with them as she open'd 

the door, in doing which, one of them fell upon the ground 1 

instantly saw it was my own writing 

379 



THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 

O Seigneur ! cried I — you have got all my remarks upon your 

head, Madam ! J^en suis Men mortifiee, said she 'tis well, 

thinks I, they have stuck there — for could they have gone deeper, 
they would have made such confusion in a French woman's noddle 
— She had better have gone with it unfrizled to the day of eternity. 

Tenez — said she — so without any idea of the natvire of my 
suffering, she took them from her curls, and put them gravely one 

by t ne into my hat one was twisted this way another 

twisted that ey! by my faith; and when they are published, 

quoth I, 

They will be worse twisted still. 



CHAPTER XXXIX 

AND now for Lippius's clock! said I, with the air of a man, 
who had got thro' all his difficulties nothing can prevent 

us seeing that, and the Chinese history, &c., except the time, said 

Frangois for 'tis almost eleven — Then we must speed the 

faster, said I, striding it away to the cathedral. 

I cannot say, in my heart, that it gave me any concern in being 
told by one of the minor canons, as I was entering the west door, — 
That Lippius's great clock was all out of joints, and had not gone 

for some years It will give me the more time, thought I, to 

peruse the Chinese history; and besides I shall be able to give the 
world a better account of the clock in its decay, than I could have 
done in its flourishing condition 

And so away I posted to the college of the Jesuits. 

Now it is with the project of getting a peep at the history of 
China in Chinese characters — as with many others I could men- 
tion, which strike the fancy only at a distance; for as I came nearer 
and nearer to the point — my blood cool'd — the freak gradually 
went off, till at length I would not have given a cherrystone to have 

it gratified The truth was, my time was short, and my 

heart was at the Tomb of the Lovers 1 wish to God, said I, as 

I got the rapper in my hand, that the key of the library may be but 
lost ; it fell out as well 

For all the Jesuits had got the cholic — and to that degree, as 
never was known in the memory of the oldest practitioner. 

380 



OF TRISTRAM SHANDY 



CHAPTER XL 

AS I knew the geography of the Tomb of the Lovers, as well as 
if I had Hved twenty years in Lyons, namely, that it was upon 
the turning of my right hand, just without the gate, leading to the 

Fauxbourg de Vaise 1 dispatched Francois to the boat, that I 

might pay the homage I so long ow'd it, without a witness of my 
weakness — I walk'd with all imaginable joy towards the place 

when I saw the gate which intercepted the tomb, my heart 

glowed within me 

— Tender and faithful spirits! cried I, addressing myself to 
Amandus and Amanda — long — long have I tarried to drop this 
tear upon your tomb 1 come 1 come 

When I came — there was no tomb to drop it upon. 

What would I have given for my uncle Toby, to have whistled 
Lillo bullero! 

CHAPTER XLI 

NO matter how, or in what mood — but I flew from the tomb of 
the lovers — or rather I did not ^y from it — (for there was no 
such thing existing) and just got time enough to the boat to save my 
passage; — and ere I had sailed a hundred yards, the Rhone and 
the Sadn met together, and carried me down merrily betwixt them. 

But I have described this voyage down the Rhone, before I made 
it 

So now I am at Avignon, and as there is nothing to see but 

the old house, in which the duke of Ormond resided, and nothing to 
stop me but a short remark upon the place, in three minutes you 
will see me crossing the bridge upon a mule, with Frangois upon a 
horse with my portmanteau behind him, and the owner of both, 
striding the way before us, with a long gun upon his shoulder, and 
a sword under his arm, lest peradventure we should run away with 

his cattle. Had you seen my breeches in entering Avignon, 

Though you'd have seen them better, I think, as I mounted — 
you would not have thought the precaution amiss, or found in your 
heart to have taken it in dudgeon ; for my own part, I took it most 
kindly; and determined to make him a present of them, when we 
got to the end of our journey, for the trouble they had put him to, of 
arming himself at all points against them. 
381 



THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 

Before I go further, let me get rid of my remark upon Avignon, 
which is this: That I think it wrong, merely because a man's hat 
has been blown off his head by chance the first night he comes to 
Avignon, that he should therefore say, "Avignon is more sub- 
ject to high winds than any town in all France .•" for which reason I 
laid no stress upon the accident till I had enquired of the master of 

the inn about it, who telling me seriously it was so and hearing, 

moreover, the windiness of Avignon spoke of in the country about 

as a proverb 1 set it down, merely to ask the learned what can 

be the cause the consequence I saw — for they are all Dukes, 

Marquisses, and Counts, there the duce a Baron, in all Avig- 
non so that there is scarce any talking to them on a windy day. 

Prithee, friend, said I, take hold of my mule for a moment 

for I wanted to pull off one of my jack-boots, which hurt my heel — 
the man was standing quite idle at the door of the inn, and as I had 
taken it into my head, he was someway concerned about the house 
or stable, I put the bridle into his hand — so begun with the boot: 
— when I had finished the affair, I turned about to take the mule 
from the man, and thank him 

But Monsieur le Marquis had walked in 



CHAPTER XLII 

I HAD now the whole south of France, from the banks of the 
Rhone to those of the Garonne, to traverse upon my mule 

at my own leisure — at my own leisure for I had left Death, 

the Lord knows and He only — how far behind me " I 

have followed many a man thro' France, quoth he — but never at 

this mettlesome rate." Still he followed, and still I fled 

him but I fled him chearfully still he pursued but, 

like one wh^ pvursued his prey without hope as he lagg'd, 

every step he lost, soften 'd his looks why should I fly him 

at this rate ? 

So notwithstanding all the commissary of the post-office had 
said, I changed the mode of my travelling once more; and, after so 
precipitate and rattling a course as I had run, I flattered my fancy 
with thinking of my mule, and that I should traverse the rich plains 
of Languedoc upon his back, as slowly as foot could fall. 

There is nothing more pleasing to a traveller or more ter- 

382 



OF TRISTRAM SHANDY 

rible to travel -writers, than a large rich plain ; especially if it is with- 
out great rivers or bridges; and presents nothing to the eye, but 
one unvaried picture of plenty: for after they have once told you, 
that 'tis delicious ! or delightful ! (as the case happens) — that 
the soil was grateful, and that nature pours out all her abundance, 
&c. . . . they have then a large plain upon their hands, which 
they know not what to do with — and which is of little or no use 
to them but to carry them to some town; and that town, per- 
haps of little more, but a new place to start from to the next plain 
and so on. 

— This is most terrible work; judge if I don't manage my plains 
better. 

CHAPTER XLIII 

I HAD not gone above two leagues and a half, before the man 
with his gun began to look at his priming. 

I had three several times loiter'd terribly behind ; half a mile at 
least every time; once, in deep conference with a drum-maker, 
who was making drums for the fairs of Baucaira and Tarascone — 
I did not imderstand the principles 

The second time, I cannot so properly say, I stopp'd for 

meeting a couple of Franciscans straitened more for time than 
myself, and not being able to get to the bottom of what I was about 
1 had tum'd back with them 

The third, was an affair of trade with a gossip, for a hand-basket 
of Provence figs for four sous; this would have been transacted at 
once; but for a case of conscience at the close of it; for when the 
figs were paid for, it tum'd out, that there were two dozen of eggs 
cover'd over with vine-leaves at the bottom of the basket — as I 
had no intention of buying eggs — I made no sort of claim of 
them — as for the space they had occupied — what signified it? 
I had figs enow for my money 

— But it was my intention to have the basket — it was the 
gossip's intention to keep it, without which, she could do nothing 

with her eggs and unless I had the basket, I could do as little 

with my figs, which were too ripe already, and most of 'em burst 
at the side: this brought on a short contention, which terminated 
in stmdry proposals, what we should both do 

How we disposed of our eggs and figs, I defy you, or the 

383 



THE LIFE AND OPINIONS 

Devil himself, had he not been there (which I am persuaded he 
was), to form the least probable conjecture: You wiU read the 

whole of it not this year, for I am hastening to the story 

of my uncle Toby's amours — but you will read it in the collection 
of those which have arose out of the journey across this plain — 
and which, therefore, I call my 

PLAIN STORIES 

How far my pen has been fatigued, like those of other travellers, 
in this journey of it, over so barren a track — the world must judge 
— but the traces of it, which are now all set o' vibrating together 
this moment, tell me 'tis the most fruitful and busy period of my 
life; for as I had made no convention with my man with the gun, 
as to time — by stopping and talking to every soul I met, who was 
not in a full trot — joining all parties before me — waiting for 
every soul behind — hailing all those who were coming through 
cross-roads — arresting all kinds of beggars, pilgrims, fiddlers, 
friars — not passing by a woman in a mulberry-tree without com- 
mending her legs, and tempting her into conversation with a pinch 

of snuff In short, by seizing every handle, of what size or 

shape soever, which chance held out to me in this journey — I 
turned my plain into a city — I was always in company, and with 
great variety too; and as my mule loved society as much as myself, 
and had some proposals always on his part to offer to every beast he 
met — I am confident we could have passed through Pali-Mall 
or St. James's-'Sive&i for a month together, with fewer adventures — 
and seen less of human nature. 

O! there is that sprightly frankness, which at once unpins every 
plait of a Languedocian's dress — that whatever is beneath it, it 
looks so like the simplicity which poets sing of in better days — I 
will delude my fancy, and believe it is so. 

'Twas in the road betwixt Nismes and Lunel, where there is the 
best Muscatto wine in all France, and which by the bye belongs to 
the honest canons of Montpellier — and foul befal the man who 
has drank it at their table, who grudges them a drop of it. 

The sun was set — they had done their work ; the nymphs 

had tied up their hair afresh — and the swains were preparing for 

a carousal my mule made a dead point Tis the fife and 

tabourin, said I I'm frighten'd to death, quoth he They 

are running at the ring of pleasure, said I, giving him a prick 

384 



OF TRISTRAM SHANDY 

By saint Boogar, and all the saints at the backside of the door of 
purgatory, said he — (making the same resolution with the abbesse 

of Andouilleis) I'll not go a step further 'Tis very well, 

sir, said I 1 never will argue a point with one of your family, 

as long as I live ; so leaping off his back, and kicking off one boot 
into this ditch, and t'other into that — I'll take a dance, said I — 
so stay you here. 

A sun-biimt daughter of Labour rose up from the groupe to 
meet me, as I advanced towards them; her hair, which was a dark 
chesnut approaching rather to a black, was tied up in a knot, all 
but a single tress. 

We want a cavalier, said she, holding out both her hands, as if to 
offer them — And a cavalier ye shall have ; said I, taking hold of 
both of them. 

Hadst thou, Nanneite, been array'd like a dutchesse ! 

But that cursed sht in thy petticoat ! 

Nannette cared not for it. 

We could not have done without you, said she, letting go one 
hand, with self-taught politeness, leading me up with the other. 

A lame youth, whom Apollo had recompensed with a pipe, and 
to which he had added a tabourin of his own accord, ran sweetly 

over the prelude, as he sat upon the bank Tie me up this tress 

instantly, said Nannette, putting a piece of string into my hand — 

It taught me to forget I was a stranger The whole knot fell 

down — We had been seven years acquainted. 

The youth struck the note upon the tabourin — his pipe followed, 
and off we bounded "the duce take that slit!" 

The sister of the youth, who had stolen her voice from heaven, 
sung alternately with her brother 'twas a Gascoigne roundelay. 

VIVA LA JOIA! 

FIDON LA TRISTESSA! 

The nymphs join'd in unison, and their swains an octave below 

them 

I would have given a crown to have it sew'd up — Nannette 
would not have given a sous — Viva la joia ! was in her lips — Viva 
la joia ! was in her eyes. A transient spark of amity shot across 

the space betwixt us She look'd amiable ! Why could I 

not live, and end my days thus? Just Disposer of our joys and 
sorrows, cried I, why could not a man sit down in the lap of content 

385 



LIFE OF TRISTR,\M SIL\XDY 

here and dance, and sing, and say his prayers, and go to heaven 

with this nut-brown maid ? Capriciously did she bend her head on 

one side, and dance up insidious Then 'tis time to dance off, 

quoth I; so changing only partners and tunes, I danced it away 

from Lund to MotUpeUkr from thence to Pespvas, BezUrs 

I danced it along through Xarbonti^, Carcasson, and Castie Nau- 
dmry, till at last I danced myself into Perdrillo's pa^•illion, where 
pulling out a paper of black lines, that I might go on straight for- 
wards, without digression or parenthesis, in my uncle Toby's 

amours 

I begun thus 



386 



PAPERS FROM 

THE 

CITIZEN OF THE WORLD 

BY 

OLIVER GOLDSMITH 



LETTERS FROM A CITIZEN OF THE 

WORLD TO HIS FRIENDS IN 

THE EAST 



LETTER I 

To Mr. , Merchant, in London 

introduction 

Amsterdam. 

SIR, — Yours of the 13th instant, covering two bills, one on 
Messrs. R. and D. value ;i^478, los., and the other on Mr. 
****, value ;^285, duly came to hand, the former of which met with 
honour, but the other has been trifled with, and I am afraid will be 
returned protested. 

The bearer of this is my friend, therefore let him be yours. He 
is a native of Honan in China, and one who did me signal services, 
when he was a mandarine, and I a factor, at Canton. By frequently 
conversing with the Enghsh there, he has learned the language, 
though he is entirely a stranger to their manners and customs. I 
am told he is a philosopher — I am sure he is an honest man : that 
to you will be his best recommendation, next to the consideration of 
his being the friend of. Sir, yours, &c. 

LETTER II 

From Lien Chi Altangi, to , Merchant in Amsterdam 

ARRIVAL OF THE CHINESE PHILOSOPHER IN LONDON — HIS MOTIVES 
FOR THE JOURNEY — SOME DESCRIPTION OF THE STREETS AND 
HOUSES 

London. 

FRIEND OF MY HEART, — May the wings of peace rest upon thy 
dwelling, and the shield of conscience preserve thee from vice 
and misery ! For all thy favours accept my gratitude and esteem, 
the only tributes a poor philosophic wanderer can return. Sure, 
389 



CITIZEN OF THE WORLD 

fortune is resolved to make me unhappy, when she gives others a 
power of testifying their friendship by actions, and leaves me only 
words to express the sincerity of mine. 

I am perfectly sensible of the dehcacy with which you endeavour 
to lessen your own merit and my obligations. By calling yowc late 
instances of friendship only a return for former favours, you would 
induce me to impute to your justice what I owe to your generosity. 

The services I did you at Canton, justice, humanity, and my 
ofl&ce, bade me perform ; those you have done me since my arrival at 
Amsterdam, no laws obhged you to, no justice required. Even 
half yom- favours would have been greater than my most sanguine 
expectations. 

The sum of money, therefore, which you privately conveyed into 
my baggage, when I was leaving Holland, and which I was ignorant 
of till my arrival in London, I must beg leave to return. You have 
been bred a merchant, and I a scholar ; you consequently love money 
better than I. You can find pleasure in superfluity; I am perfectly 
content with what is sufficient. Take therefore what is yours ; it may 
give you some pleasure, even though you have no occasion to use it; 
my happiness it cannot improve, for I have already all that I want. 

My passage by sea from Rotterdam to England was more painful 
to me than all the journeys I ever made on land. I have traversed 
the immeasurable wilds of Mogul Tartary; felt all the rigours of 
Siberian skies; I have had my repose a hundred times disturbed by 
invading savages, and have seen, without shrinking, the desert sands 
rise like a troubled ocean all aroimd me. Against these calamities 
I was armed with resolution; but in my passage to England, though 
nothing occurred that gave the mariners any uneasiness, to one who 
was never at sea before, all was a subject of astonishment and 
terror. To find the land disappear — to see our ship mount the 
waves, swift as an arrow from the Tartar bow — to hear the wind 
howling through the cordage — to feel a sickness which depresses 
even the spirits of the brave, — these were unexpected distresses, 
and, consequently, assaulted me, unprepared to receive them. 

You men of Europe think nothing of a voyage by sea. With us 
of China, a man who has been from sight of land is regarded upon 
his return with admiration. I have known some provinces where 
there is not even a name for the ocean. What a strange people, 
therefore, am I got amongst, who have founded an empire on this 
unstable element, who build cities upon billows that rise higher 

390 



CITIZEN OF THE WORLD 

than the mountains of Tipertala, and make the deep more formid- 
able than the wildest tempest! 

Such accounts as these, I must confess, were my first motives for 
seeing England. These induced me to undertake a journey of 
seven hundred painful days, in order to examine its opulence, 
buildings, sciences, arts, and manufactures on the spot. Judge, 
then, how great is my disappointment on entering London, to see 
no signs of that opulence so much talked of abroad: wherever I 
turn, I am presented with a gloomy solemnity in the houses, the 
streets, and the inhabitants: none of that beautiful gilding which 
makes a principal ornament in Chinese architecture. The streets 
of Nankin are sometimes strewed with gold leaf; very different are 
those of London : in the midst of their pavements a great lazy puddle 
moves muddily along; heavy-laden machines, with wheels of 
unwieldy thickness, crowd up every passage; so that a stranger, 
instead of finding time for observation, is often happy if he has 
time to escape from being crushed to pieces. 

The houses borrow very few ornaments from architecture; their 
chief decoration seems to be a paltry piece of painting, hung out at 
their doors or windows, at once a proof of their indigence and 
vanity, in each having one of those pictures exposed to public view ; 
and their indigence in being unable to get them better painted. In 
this respect, the fancy of their painters is also deplorable. Could 
you believe it? I have seen five black lions and three blue boars 
in less than the circuit of half a mile ; and yet you know that animals 
of these colours are nowhere to be found except in the wild imagina- 
tions of Europe. 

From these circumstances in their buildings, and from the dismal 
looks of the inhabitants, I am induced to conclude that the nation 
is actually poor; and that, like the Persians, they make a splendid 
figure everywhere but at home. The proverb of Xixofou is, that a 
man's riches may be seen in his eyes: if we judge of the English by 
this rule, there is not a poorer nation under the sun. 

I have been here but two days, so will not be hasty in my decisions. 
Such letters as I shall write to Fipsihi in Moscow, I beg you'll 
endeavour to forward with all diligence; I shall send them open, in 
order that you may take copies or translations, as you are equally 
versed in the Dutch and Chinese languages. Dear friend, think of 
my absence with regret, as I sincerely regret yours; even while I 
write, I lament our separation. Farewell. 

391 



CITIZEN OF THE WORLD 



LETTER III 

From Lien Chi Altangi, to the care of Fipsihi, resident in Moscow, 
to be ford'arded by the Russian caravan to Fum Hoam, First Presi- 
dent oj the Ceremonial Academy at Pekin, in China 

THE. DESCRIPTION OF LONDON CONTINUED — THE LUXURY OF THE 
ENGLISH — ITS BENEFITS — THE FLNE GENTLEMAN — THE FINE 
LADY 

THINK not, O thou gmde of my youth ! that absence can impair 
my respect, or interposing trackless deserts blot your reverend 
figure from my memory. The farther I travel, I feel the pain of 
separation with stronger force ; those ties that bind me to my native 
country and you, are stiU imbroken. By every remove, I only drag 
a greater length of chain. 

Could I find aught worth transmitting from so remote a region 
as this to which I have wandered, I should gladly send it; but, 
instead of this, you must be contented with a renewal of my former 
professions, and an imperfect account of a people with whom I 
am as yet but superficially acquainted. The remarks of a man 
who has been but three days in the country, can only be those 
ob\ious circumstances which force themselves upcn the imagina- 
tion. I consider myself here as a newly created being, introduced 
into a new world. Every object strikes with wonder and surprise. 
The imagination, still unsated, seems the only active principle of 
the mind. The most trifling occurrences give pleasure, till the gloss 
of novelty is worn away. When I have ceased to wonder, I may 
possibly grow wise; I may then call the reasoning principle to my 
aid, and compare those objects with each other, which were before 
examined without reflection. 

Behold me, then, in London, gazing at the strangers, and they 
at me. It seems they find somewhat absurd in my figure ; and had 
I been never from home, it is possible I might find an infinite 
fund of ridicule in theirs, but by long travelling, I am taught to 
laugh at folly alone, and to find nothing truly ridiculous but villainy 
and vice. 

When I had just quitted my native coimtry, and crossed the 
Chinese wall, I fancied every deviation from the customs and 
manners of China was a departing from nature. I smiled at the 
blue lips and red foreheads of the Tonguese; and could hardly con- 

392 



CITIZEN OF THE WORLD 

tain when I saw the Daures dress their heads with horns: the 
Ostiacs powdered with red earth ; and the Calmuck beauties tricked 
out in all the finery of sheepskin, appeared highly ridiculous. But 
I soon perceived that the ridicule lay not in them, but in me; that 
I falsely condemned others for absurdity, because they happened 
to differ from a standard originally founded in prejudice or par- 
tiality. 

I find no pleasure, therefore, in taxing the English with depart- 
ing from nature in their external appearance, which is all I yet 
know of their character: it is possible they only endeavour to im- 
prove her simple plan, since every extravagance in dress proceeds 
from a desire of becoming more beautiful than nature made us; 
and this is so harmless a vanity, that I not only pardon, but approve 
it. A desire to be more excellent than others is what actually 
makes us so ; and as thousands find a livelihood in society by such 
appetites, none but the ignorant inveigh against them. 

You are not insensible, most reverend Fum Hoam, what number- 
less trades, even among the Chinese, subsist by the harmless pride 
of each other. Your nose-borers, feet-swathers, teeth-stainers, 
eyebrow -pluckers, would all want bread, should their neighbours 
want vanity. These vanities, however, employ much fewer hands 
in China than in England; and a fine gentleman, or a fine lady, 
here, dressed up to the fashion, seems scarcely to have a single 
limb that does not suffer some distortions from art. 

To make a fine gentleman, several trades are required, but chiefly 
a barber. You have undoubtedly heard of the Jewish champion, 
whose strength lay in his hair. One would think the English were 
for placing all wisdom there. To appear wise, nothing more is 
requisite here than for a man to borrow hair from the heads of all 
his neighbours, and clap it, like a bush, on his own. The distrib- 
utors of law and physic stick on such quantities, that it is almost 
impossible, even in idea, to distinguish between the head and the 
hair. 

Those whom I have been now describing affect the gravity of the 
lion; those I am going to describe more resemble the pert vivacity 
of smaller animals. The barber, who is still master of the cere- 
monies, cuts their hair close to the crown; and then, with a compo- 
sition of meal and hog's-lard, plasters the whole in such a manner 
as to make it impossible to distinguish whether the patient wears 
a cap or a plaster: but, to make the picture more perfectly striking, 

393 



CITIZEN OF THE WORLD 

conceive the tail of some beast, a grey-hound's tail, or a pig's tail, 
for instance, appended to the back of the head, and reaching down 
to the place where tails in other animals are generally seen to begin : 
thus betailed and bepowdered, the man of taste fancies he improves 
in beauty, dresses up his hard-featured face in smiles, and attempts 
to look hideously tender. Thus equipped, he is qualified to make 
love, and hopes for success more from the powder on the outside 
of his head, than the sentiments within. 

Yet when I consider what sort of a creature the fine lady is, to 
whom he is supposed to pay his addresses, it is not strange to find 
him thus equipped in order to please. She is herself every whit 
as fond of powder, and tails, and hog's-lard, as he. To speak my 
secret sentiments, most reverend Fum, the ladies here are horridly 
ugly; I can hardly endure the sight of them; they no way resemble 
the beauties of China: the Europeans have a quite different idea 
of beauty from us. When I reflect on the small-footed perfections 
of an Eastern beauty, how is it possible I should have eyes for a 
woman whose feet are ten inches long? I shall never forget the 
beauties of my native city of Nangfew. How very broad their 
faces; how very short their noses; how very little their eyes; how 
very thin their lips; how very black their teeth; the snow on the 
tops of Bao is not fairer than their cheeks; and their eyebrows are 
small as the line by the pencil of Quamsi. Here a lady with such 
perfections would be frightful. Dutch and Chinese beauties, 
indeed, have some resemblance, but English women are entirely 
different: red cheeks, big eyes, and teeth of a most odious white- 
ness, are not only seen here, but wished for; and then they have 
such masculine feet, as actually serve some for walking! 

Yet uncivil as Nature has been, they seem resolved to outdo her 
in unkindness : they use white powder, blue powder, and black pow- 
der for their hair, and a red powder for the face on some particular 
occasions. 

They like to have the face of various colours, as among the Tar- 
tars of Koreki, frequently sticking on, with spittle, little black 
patches on every part of it, except on the tip of the nose, which I 
have never seen with a patch. You'll have a better idea of their 
manner of placing these spots, when I have finished a map of an 
English face patched up to the fashion, which shall shortly be sent 
to increase yovir curious collection of paintings, medals, and mon- 
sters. 

394 




Xuon. 



CITIZEN OF THE WORLD 

But what siirprises more than all the rest is what I have just now 
been credibly informed of by one of this country. " Most ladies 
here," says he, "have two faces; one face to sleep in, and another 
to show in company. The first is generally reserved for the hus- 
band and family at home; the other put on to please strangers 
abroad: the family face is often indifferent enough, but the out- 
door one looks something better; this is always made at the toilet, 
where the looking-glass and toad-eater sit in council, and settle the 
complexion of the day." 

I cannot ascertain the truth of this remark: however, it is actually 
certain, that they wear more clothes within doors than without; 
and I have seen a lady, who seemed to shudder at a breeze in her 
own apartment, appear half naked in the streets. Farewell. 



LETTER IV 

To the Same 

ENGLISH PRIDE — LIBERTY — AN INSTANCE OF BOTH — NEW^S- 
PAPERS — POLITENESS 

THE English seem as silent as the Japanese, yet vainer than the 
inhabitants of Siam. Upon my arrival I attributed that re- 
serve to modesty, which, I now find, has its origin in pride. Conde- 
scend to address them first, and you are sure of their acquaintance; 
stoop to flattery, and you conciliate their friendship and esteem. 
They bear hunger, cold, fatigue, and all the miseries of life without 
shrinking; danger only calls forth their fortitude; they even exult 
in calamity; but contempt is what they cannot bear. An English- 
man fears contempt more than death; he often flies to death as a 
refuge from its pressure; and dies when he fancies the world has 
ceased to esteem him. 

Pride seems the source not only of their national vices, but of 
their national virtues also. An Englishman is taught to love his 
king as his friend, but to acknowledge no other master than the 
laws which himself has contributed to enact. He despises those 
nations who, that one may be free, are all content to be slaves; who 
first lift a tyrant into terror, and then shrink under his power as if 
delegated from Heaven. Liberty is echoed in all their assemblies; 
and thousands might be found ready to offer up their lives for the 

395 



CITIZEN OF THE WORLD 

sound, though perhaps not one of all the number understands its 
meaning. The lowest mechanic, however, looks upon it as his duty 
to be a watchful guardian of his country's freedom, and often uses a 
language that might seem haughty, even in the mouth of the Great 
Emperor who traces his ancestry to the moon. 

A few days ago, passing by one of their prisons, I could not avoid 
stopping, in order to listen to a dialogue which I thought might afford 
me some entertainment. The conversation was carried on between 
a debtor, through the grate of his prison, a porter, who had stopped 
to rest his burthen, and a soldier at the window. The subject w-as 
upon a threatened invasion from France, and each seemed extremely 
anxious to rescue his country from the impending danger. "For 
my part," cries the prisoner, " the greatest of my apprehensions is 
for our freedom ; if the French should conquer, what would become of 
English liberty? My dear friends, liberty is the Englishman's pre- 
rogative ; we must preserve that at the expense of our lives ; of that 
the French shall never deprive us. It is not to be expected that men 
w^ho are slaves themselves w'ould preserve our freedom should they 
happen to conquer." — "Ay, slaves," cries the porter, "they are all 
slaves, fit only to carry burthens, every one of them. Before I would 
stoop to slavery, may this be my poison," (and he held the goblet in 
his hand), "may this be my poison — but I would sooner 'list for a 
soldier." 

The soldier, taking the goblet from his friend, with much awe, 
fervently cried out, " It is not so much ovu- hberties, as our reUgion, 
that would suffer by such a change: ay, our rehgion, my lads. May 
the de\al sink me into flames," (such was the solemnity of his adju- 
ration), "if the French should come over, but our religion would be 
utterly undone!" — So saying, instead of a libation, he apphed the 
goblet to his lips, and confirmed his sentiments ^^'ith a ceremony of 
the most persevering devotion. 

In short, every man here pretends to be a poHtician; even the fair 
sex are sometimes found to mix the severity of national altercation 
with the blandishments of love, and often become conquerors, by 
more weapons of destruction than their eyes. 

This universal passion for poHtics is gratified by Daily Gazettes, 
as with us in China. But as in ours the Emperor endeavours to 
instruct his people, m theirs the people endeavour to instruct the 
administration. You must not, however, imagine, that they who 
compile these papers have any actual knowledge of the poUtics, or 
396 



CITIZEN OF THE WORLD 

the government, of a state; they only collect their materials from the 
oracle of some coffee-house, which oracle has himself gathered them 
the night before from a beau at a gaming-table, who has pillaged his 
knowledge from a great man's porter, who has had his information 
from the great man's gentleman, who has invented the whole story 
for his own amusement the night preceding. 

The English, in general, seem fonder of gaining the esteem than 
the love of those they converse with. This gives a formality to their 
amusements: their gayest conversations have something too wise 
for innocent relaxation: though in company you are seldom dis- 
gusted with the absurdity of a fool, you are seldom lifted into rap- 
ture by those strokes of vivacity, which give instant, though not per- 
manent, pleasure. 

What they want, however, in gaiety, they make up in poUteness. 
You smile at hearing me praise the English for their politeness; you 
who have heard very different accounts from the missionaries at 
Pekin, who have seen such a different behaviour in their merchants 
and seamen at home. But I must still repeat it, the Enghsh seem 
more poHte than any of their neighbours: their great art in this 
respect hes in endeavouring, while they oblige, to lessen the force of 
the favour. Other countries are fond of obUging a stranger; but 
seem desirous that he should be sensible of the obligation. The 
English confer their kindness with an appearance of indifference, 
and give away benefits with an air as if they despised them. 

Walking, a few days ago, between an English and a Frenchman 
in the suburbs of the city, we were overtaken by a heavy shower of 
rain. I was unprepared; but they had each large coats, which de- 
fended them from what seemed to me a perfect inundation. The 
Englishman, seeing me shrink from the weather, accosted me thus: 
"Psha, man, what dost shrink at? here, take this coat; I don't 
wan't it; I find it no way useful to me; I had as hef be without it." 
The Frenchman began to show his poHteness in turn. "My dear 
friend," cries he, "why won't you oblige me by making use of my 
coat? you see how well it defends me from the rain; I should not 
choose to part with it to others, but to such a friend as you I could 
even part with my skin to do him service." 

From such minute instances as these, most reverend Fum Hoam, 
I am sensible your sagacity will collect instruction. The volume of 
nature is the book of knowledge; and he becomes most wise who 
makes the most judicious selection. Farewell. 

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CITIZEN OF THE WORLD 

LETTER V 
To the Same 

ENGLISH PASSION FOR POLITICS — A SPECIMEN OF A NEWSPAPER — 
CHARACTERISTICS OF THE MANNERS OF DIFFERENT COUNTRIES 

I HAVE already informed you of the singular passion of this 
nation for politics. An Englishman, not satisfied with find- 
ing, by his own prosperity, the contending powers of Europe prop- 
erly balanced, desires also to know the precise value of every weight 
in either scale. To gratify this curiosity, a leaf of political instruc- 
tion is served up every morning with tea. When our pohtician 
has feasted upon this, he repairs to a coffee-house, in order to rumi- 
nate upon what he has read, and increase his collection; from 
thence he proceeds to the ordinary, enquires what news, and, 
treasuring up every acquisition there, hunts about all the evening 
in quest of more, and carefully adds it to the rest. Thus at night 
he retires home, full of the important advices of the day: when io! 
awaking next morning, he finds the instructions of yesterday a 
collection of absurdity, or palpable falsehood. This one would 
think a mortifying repulse in the pursuit of wisdom; yet our pohti- 
cian, no way discouraged, hunts on, in order to collect fresh mate- 
rials, and in order to be again disappointed. 

I have often admired the commercial spirit which prevails over 
Europe; have been surprised to see them carry on a traffic with 
productions that an Asiatic stranger would deem entirely useless. 
It is a proverb in China that a European suffers not even his spittle 
to be lost ; the maxim, however, is not sufficiently strong, since they 
sell even their lies to great advantage. Every nation drives a con- 
siderable trade in this commodity with their neighbours. 

An EngHsh dealer in this way, for instance, has only to ascend 
to his work-house, and manufacture a turbulent speech, averred 
to be spoken in the senate; or a report supposed to be dropt at 
court; a piece of scandal that strikes at a popular mandarine; or a 
secret treaty between two neighbouring powers. When finished, 
these goods are baled up, and consigned to a factor abroad, who 
sends in return two battles, three sieges, and a shrewd letter filled 
with dashes blanks, and stars * * * of great importance. 

Thus, you perceive, that a single Gazette is the joint manufacture 
of Europe; and he who would peruse it with a philosophical eye, 

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might perceive in every paragraph something characteristic of the 
nation to wliich it belongs. A map does not exhibit a more dis- 
tinct view of the boundaries and situation of every country, than 
its news does a picture of the genius and the morals of its inhabi- 
tants. The superstition and erroneous deHcacy of Italy, the for- 
maUty of Spain, the cruelty of Portugal, the fears of Austria, the 
confidence of Prussia, the levity of France, the avarice of Holland, 
the pride of England, the absurdity of Ireland, and the national 
partiahty of Scotland, are all conspicuous in every page. 

But, perhaps, you may find more satisfaction in a real newspaper, 
than in my description of one; I therefore send a specimen, which 
may serve to exhibit the manner of their being written, and distin- 
guish the characters of the various nations which are united in its 
composition. 

Naples. — We have lately dug up here a curious Etruscan 
monument, broke in two in the raising. The characters are scarce 
visible: but Nugosi, the learned antiquary, supposes it to have been 
erected in honour of Picus, a Latin king, as one of the lines may be 
plainly distinguished to begin with a P. It is hoped this discovery 
will produce something valuable, as the literati of our twelve acade- 
mies are deeply engaged in the disquisition. 

Pisa. — Since Father Fudgi, prior of St. Gilbert's, has gone to 
reside at Rome, no miracles have been performed at the shrine 
of St. Gilbert: the devout begin to grow uneasy, and some begin 
actually to fear that St. Gilbert has forsaken them with the reverend 
father. 

Lucca. — The administrators of our serene republic have fre- 
quent conferences upon the part they shall take in the present com- 
motions of Europe. Some are for sending a body of their troops, 
consisting of one company of foot and six horsemen, to make a 
diversion in favour of the empress-queen; others are as strenuous 
asserters of the Prussian interest: what turn these debates may 
take, time only can discover. However, certain it is, we shall be 
able to bring into the field, at the opening of the next campaign, 
seventy-five armed men, a commander-in-chief, and two drummers 
of great experience. 

Spain. — Yesterday the new king showed himself to his subjects, 
and, after having stayed half an hour in his balcony, retired to the 
royal apartment. The night concluded, on this extraordinary 
occasion, with illuminations and other demonstrations of joy. 

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The queen is more beautiful than the rising sun, and reckoned one 
of the first wits in Europe. She had a glorious opportimity of 
displaying the readiness of her invention and her skill in repartee, 
lately at court. The Duke of Lerma coming up to her with a low 
bow and a smile, and presenting a nosegay set with diamonds, 
"Madame," cries he, "I am your most obedient humble servant." 
" O, Sir," replies the queen, without any prompter, or the least 
hesitation, "I'm very proud of the very great honour you do me." 
Upon which she made a low courtsy, and all the courtiers fell 
a-laughing at the readiness and the smartness of her reply. 

Lisbon. — Yesterday we had an mito da fe, at which were 
burned three young women, accused of heresy, one of them of exqui- 
site beauty, two Jews, and an old woman, convicted of being a 
witch. One of the friars who attended the last, reports, that he 
saw the devil fly out of her at the stake in the shape of a flame of 
fire. The populace behaved on this occasion with great good- 
humour, joy, and sincere devotion. 

Our merciful sovereign has been for some time past recovered of 
his fright: though so atrocious an attempt deserved to exterminate 
half the nation, yet he has been graciously pleased to spare the hves 
of his subjects, and not above five hundred have been broke upon 
the wheel, or otherwise executed, upon this horrid occasion. 

Vienna. — We have received certain advices that a party of 
twenty thousand Austrians, having attacked a much superior body 
of Prussians, put them all to flight, and took the rest prisoners of 
war. 

Berlin. — We have received certain advices that a party of 
twenty thousand Prussians, having attacked a much superior 
body of Austrians, put them to flight, and took a great number of 
prisoners, with their military chest, cannon, and baggage. 

Though we have not succeeded this campaign to our wishes, yet, 
when we think of him who commands us, we rest in security: while 
we sleep, our king is watchful for our safety. 

Paris. — We shall soon strike a signal blow. We have seventeen 
flat-bottomed boats at Havre. The people are in excellent spirits, 
and our ministers make no difficulty in raising the supplies. 

We are all undone; the people are discontented to the last degree; 
the ministers are obHged to have recourse to the most rigorous 
methods to raise the expenses of the war. 

Our distresses are great; but Madame Pompadour continues to 
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supply our king, who is now growing old, with a fresh lady every 
night. His health, thank Heaven, is still pretty well; nor is he in 
the least unfit, as was reported, for any kind of royal exercitation. 
He was so frightened at the affair of Damien, that his physicians 
were apprehensive lest his reason should suffer; but that ^wetch's 
tortures soon composed the kingly terrors of his breast. 

ExGLANTD. — Wanted an usher to an academy. — N. B. — He 
must be able to read, dress hair, and must have had the small-pox. 

Dublin. — We hear that there is a benevolent subscription on 
foot among the nobihty and gentry of this kingdom, who are great 
patrons of merit, in order to assist Black and All Black, in his con- 
test with the Paddereen mare. 

We hear from Germany that Prince Ferdinand has gained a 
complete victory, and taken twelve kettle-drums, five standards, 
and four waggons of ammunition, prisoners of war. 

Edinburgh. — We are positive when we say that Saunders 
M'Gregor, who was lately executed for horse-stealing, is not a 
Scotsman, but bom in Carrickfergus. — Farewell. 



LETTER XII 
To the Same 

THE FUNERAL SOLEMNITIES OF THE ENGLISH — THEIR PASSION 
FOR FLATTERING EPITAPHS 

FROM the funeral solemnities of the Daures, who think them- 
selves the politest people in the world, I must make a transi- 
tion to the funeral solemnities of the English, who think themselves 
as polite as they. The numberless ceremonies which are used 
here when a person is sick appear to me so many evident marks 
of fear and apprehension. Ask an Englishman, however, whether 
he is afraid of death, and he boldly answers in the negative; but 
observe his behaviour in circumstances of approaching sickness, 
and you will find his actions give his assertions the lie. 

The Chinese are very sincere in this respect; they hate to die, 

and they confess their terrors: a great part of their life is spent in 

preparing things proper for their funeral. A poor artisan shaU 

spend half his income in pro\ading himself a tomb t^'enty years 

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before he wants it; and denies himself the necessaries of life, that 
he may be amply provided for when he shall want them no more. 

But people of distinction in England really deserve pity, for they 
die in circumstances of the most extreme distress. It is an estab- 
lished rule, never to let a man know that he is dying: physicians are 
sent for, the clergy are called, and every thing passes in silent 
solemnity round the sick-bed. The patient is in agonies, looks 
round for pity, yet not a single creature will say that he is dying. 
If he is possessed of fortune, his relations entreat him to make his 
will, as it may restore the tranquillity of his mind. He is desired 
to undergo the rites of the church, for decency requires it. His 
friends take their leave, only because they do not care to see him in 
pain. In short, a hundred stratagems are used to make him do 
what he might have been induced to perform only by being told, 
"Sir, you are past all hopes, and had as good think decently of 
dying." 

Besides all this, the chamber is darkened, the whole house echoes 
to the cries of the wife, the lamentations of the children, the grief 
of the servants, and the sighs of friends. The bed is surrounded 
with priests and doctors in black, and only flambeaux emit a yellow 
gloom. Where is the man, how intrepid soever, that would not 
shrink at such a hideous solemnity? For fear of affrighting their 
expiring friends, the English practise all that can fill them with 
terror. Strange effect of human prejudice, thus to torture, merely 
from mistaken tenderness! 

You see, my friend, what contradictions there are in the tempers 
of those islanders: when prompted by ambition, revenge, or disap- 
pointment, they meet death with the utmost resolution: the very 
man who in his bed would have trembled at the aspect of a doctor, 
shall go with intrepidity to attack a bastion, or deliberately noose 
himself up in his garters. 

The passion of the Europeans for magnificent interments, is 
equally strong with that of the Chinese. When a tradesman dies, 
his frightful face is painted up by an undertaker, and placed in a 
proper situation to receive company: this is called lying in state. 
To this disagreeable spectacle all the idlers in town flock, and learn 
to loath the wretch dead whom they despised when living. In this 
manner, you see some who would have refused a shilling to save 
the life of their dearest friend, bestow thousands on adorning their 
putrid corpse. I have been told of a fellow, who, grown rich by the 
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price of blood, left it in his will that he should lie in state; and thus 
unknowingly gibbeted himself into infamy, when he might have 
otherwise quietly retired into oblivion. 

When the person is buried, the next care is to make his epitaph: 
they are generally reckoned best which flatter most; such relations, 
therefore, as have received most benefits from the defunct, discharge 
this friendly office, and generally flatter in proportion to their joy. 
When we read those monumental histories of the dead, it may be 
justly said, that "all men are equal in the dust"; for, they all appear 
equally remarkable for being the most sincere Christians, the most 
benevolent neighbours, and the honestest men of their time. To go 
through a European cemetery, one would be apt to wonder how 
mankind could have so basely degenerated from such excellent 
ancestors. Every tomb pretends to claim your reverence and 
regret; some are praised for piety in those inscriptions, who never 
entered the temple until they were dead ; some are praised for being 
excellent poets, who were never mentioned, except for their dulness 
when living; others for sublime orators, who were never noted except 
for their impudence; and others still, for military achievements, 
who were never in any other skirmishes but with the watch. Some 
even make epitaphs for themselves, and bespeak the reader's good- 
will. It were indeed to be wished, that every man would early 
learn this manner to make his own; that he would draw it up in 
terms as flattering as possible, and that he would make it the em- 
ployment of his whole life to deserve it! 

I have not yet been in a place called Westminster Abbey, but soon 
intend to visit it. There, I am told, I shall see justice done to 
deceased merit: none, I am told, are permitted to be buried there, 
but such as have adorned as well as improved mankind. There, 
no intruders, by the influence of friends or fortune, presume to mix 
their unhallowed ashes with philosophers, heroes, and poets. 
Nothing but true merit has a place in that awful sanctuary. The 
guardianship of the tombs is committed to several reverend priests, 
who are never guilty, for a superior reward, of taking down the 
names of good men, to make room for others of equivocal character, 
nor ever profane the sacred walls with pageants that posterity can- 
not know, or shall blush to own. 

I always was of opinion, that sepulchral honours of this kind 
should be considered as a national concern, and not trusted to the 
care of the priest of any country, how respectable soever: but from 

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the conduct of the reverend personages, vrhose disinterested patriot- 
ism I shall shortly be able to discover, I am taught to retract my 
former sentiments. It is true, the Spartans and the Persians made 
a fine political use of sepulchral A"anitA-: they permitted none to be 
thus interred, who had not fallen in the \indication of their coimtry. 
A monument thus became a real mark of distinction ; it nerv-ed the 
hero's arm with tenfold ^"igor, and he fought without fear, who 
only fought for a grave. Farewell. 



LETTER Xm 
To ih€ Same 

.AX .A.CCOTS"T OF WESTMINSTZR .A3BEY — [iTRST .\PPE.\EANXE OF 
THE "M.4K IN BL.A.CK "'] 

1AJM just returned from Westminster Abbey, the place of 
sepulture for the philosophers, heroes, and kings of England. 
"VMiat a gloom do monumental inscriptions, and all the venerable 
remains of deceased merit inspire ? Imagine a temple marked with 
the hand of antiquity, solemn as religious awe, adorned with all the 
magnificence of barbarous profusion, dim windows, fretted pillars, 
long colonnades, and dark ceilings. Think, then, what were my 
sensations at being introduced to such a scene. I stood in the 
midst of the temple, and threw my eyes round on the waUs, filled 
with the statues, the inscriptions, and the mon\mients of the dead. 

Alas! I said to m}-self, how does pride attend the pimy child of 
dust even to the grave I Even humble as I am. I possess more con- 
sequence in the present scene than the greatest hero of them all: 
they have toiled for an hour to gain a transient immortalit}', and are 
at length retired to the grave, where they have no attendant but the 
worm, none to flatter but the epitaph. 

As I was indulging such reflections, a gendeman dressed in black, 
percei\Tng me to be a stranger, came up, entered into conversation, 
and politely offered to be my instructor and guide through the 
temple. " If any monument," said he, " should particularly excite 
your curiosit}-, I shall endeavour to satisfy your demands." I 
accepted, with thanks, the gendeman 's offer, adding, that 'T was 
come to obser\-e the policy, the wisdom, and the justice of the 
English, in conferring rewards upon deceased merit. If adulation 
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like this," continued I, "be properly conducted, as it can no ways 
injure those who are flattered, so it may be a glorious incentive to 
those who are now capable of enjoN-ing it. It is the duty of every 
good government to turn this monumental pride to its own advan- 
tage; to become strong in the aggregate from the weakness of the 
indindual. If none but the truly great have a place in this awful 
repository, a temple like this will give the finest lessons of moralit}', 
and be a strong incentive to true ambition. I am told, that none 
have a place here but characters of the most distinguished merit." 
The man in black seemed impatient at my observations, so I dis- 
continued my remarks, and we walked on together to take a view 
of every particular monument in order as it lay. 

As the eye is naturally caught by the finest objects, I could not 
avoid being particularly curious about one monument, which 
appeared more beautiful than the rest: "That," said I to my guide, 
"I take to be the tomb of some very great man. By the pecuHar 
excellence of the workmanship, and the magnificence of the design, 
this must be a trophy raised to the memory of some king who has 
saved his coimtry from ruin, or lawgiver who has reduced his fellow- 
citizens from anarchy into just subjection." — " It is not requisite," 
rephed my companion, smihng, "to have such quahfications in 
order to have a very fine monument here: more humble abihties 
will sufl&ce." — "WTiat, I suppose, then, the gaining two or three 
battles, or the taking half a score towns is thought a sufficient 
quaUfication?" — "Gaining battles, or taking towns," repUed the 
man in black, "may be of ser\-ice; but a gentleman may have a 
very fine monument here \\-ithout ever seeing a battle or a siege." — 
"This, then, is the monument of some poet, I presume — of one 
whose ^-it has gained him immortahty?" — "No, Sir," rephed 
my guide, "the gentleman who hes here never made verses; and 
as for wit, he despised it in others, because he had none himself." 
"Pray tell me, then, in a word," said I, pee\ishly, "what is the 
great man who hes here particularly remarkable for?" — "Re- 
markable, Sir?" said my companion; "why. Sir, the gentleman 
that lies here is remarkable, very remarkable — for a tomb in 
Westminster Abbey." — "But, head of my .Ancestors', how has he 
got here ? I fancy he could never bribe the guardians of the temple 
to give him a place: should he not be ashamed to be seen among 
company where even moderate merit would look hke infamy?" — 
" I suppose," rephed the man in black, " the gentleman was rich. 

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and his friends, as is usual in such a case, told him he was great, 
He readily beUeved them ; the guardians of the temple, as they got 
by the self-delusion, were ready to beUeve him too; so he paid his 
money for a fine monument; and the workman, as you see, has 
made him one of the most beautiful. Think not, however, that 
this gentleman is singular in his desire of being buried among the 
great; there are several others in the temple, who, hated and shunned 
by the great while ahve, have come here, fully resolved to keep 
them company now they are dead." 

As we walked along to a particular part of the temple, " There," 
says the gentleman, pointing 'ftdth his linger, "that is the Poet's 
Comer; there you see the monuments of Shakespear, and Milton, 
and Prior, and Drayton." — "Drayton!" I replied; "I never heard 
of him before; but I have been told of one Pope — is he there?" 
— "It is time enough," replied my guide, "these hundred years; 
he is not long dead ; people have not done hating him yet." — 
— "Strange," cried I; "can any be found to hate a man whose 
hfe was wholly spent in entertaining and instructing his fellow- 
creatures?" — "Yes," says my guide, "they hate him for that 
very reason. There are a set of men called answerers of books, 
who take upon them to watch the repubUc of letters, and distribute 
reputation by the sheet; they somewhat resemble the eunuchs in a 
seragUo, who are incapable of giving pleasure themselves, and 
hinder those that would. These answerers have no other employ- 
ment but to cry out Dunce and Scribbler; to praise the d6ad, and 
revile the Uving; to grant a man of confessed abiUties some small 
share of merit; to applaud twenty blockheads in order to gain the 
reputation of candour ; and to revile the moral character of the man 
whose wTitings they cannot injure. Such ^\Tetches are kept in 
pay by some mercenary bookseller, or, more frequently, the book- 
seller himself takes this dirty work off their hands, as all that is 
required is to be very abusive and very dull. Every poet of any 
genius is sure to find such enemies; he feels, though he seems to 
despise their maUce; they make him miserable here, and in the 
pursuit of empty fame, at last he gains solid anxiety." 

"Has this been the case with every poet I see here?" cried I. 
"Yes, with every mother's son of them," replied he, "except he 
happened to be bom a mandarine. If he has much money, he 
may buy reputation from your book-answerers, as well as a monu- 
ment from the guardians of the temple." 
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" But are there not some men of distinguished taste, as In China, 
who are wiUing to patronize men of merit, and soften the rancour 
of malevolent dulness?" 

"I own there are many," replied the man in black; "but, alas! 
Sir, the book-answerers crowd about them, and call themselves the 
writers of books; and the patron is too indolent to distinguish, 
thus poets are kept at a distance, while their enemies eat up all their 
rewards at the mandarine's table." 

Leaving this part of the temple, we made up to an iron gate, 
through which my companion told me we were to pass, in order 
to see the monuments of the kings. Accordingly, I marched up 
without further, ceremony, and was going to enter, when a person, 
who held the gate in his hand, told me I must pay first. I was 
surprised at such a demand; and asked the man, whether the people 
of England kept a show? — whether the paltry sum he demanded 
was not a national reproach ? — whether it was not more to the 
honour of the country to let their magnificence, or their antiquities, 
be openly seen, than thus meanly to tax a curiosity which tended 
to their owti honour? "As for your questions," repUed the gate- 
keeper, "to be sure they may be very right, because I don't under- 
stand them ; but, as for that there threepence, I farm it from one — 
who rents it from another — who hires it from a third — who leases 
it from the guardians of the temple, — and we all must live." I 
expected, upon paying here, to see something extraordinary, since 
what I had seen for nothing filled me with so much surprise: but 
in this I was disappointed ; there was Uttle more within than black 
cofl&ns, rusty armour, tattered standards, and some few slovenly 
figures in wax. I was sorry I had paid, but I comforted myself 
by considering it would be my last payment. A person attended 
us, who, without once blushing, told a hundred lies: he talked of 
a lady who died by pricking her finger; of a king \\\th. a golden 
head, and twenty such pieces of absurdity. "Look ye there, 
gentlemen," says he, pointing to an old oak chair, " there's a curi- 
osity for ye; in that chair the kings of England were crowned: you 
see also a stone underneath, and that stone is Jacob's piUow." I 
could see no curiosity either in the oak chair or the stone; could 
I, indeed, behold one of the old kings of England seated in this, or 
Jacob's head laid upon the other, there might be something curious 
in the sight; but in the present case, there was no more reason for 
my surprise, than if I should pick a stone from their streets, and 
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call it a curiosity, merely because one of the kings happened to 
tread upon it as he passed in a procession. 

From hence our conductor led us through several dark walks and 
winding ways, uttering lies, talking to himself, and flourishing a 
wand which he held in his hand. He reminded me of the black 
magicians of Kobi. After we had been almost fatigued 'O'ith a 
variety of objects, he at last desired me to consider attentively a 
certain suit of armour, which seemed to show nothing remarkable. 
"This armour," said he, "belonged to General Monk." — "Very 
siu^jrising that a general should wear armour ! " — " And pray," added 
he, "observe this cap; this is General Monk's cap." — "Very 
strange, indeed, very strange, that a general should have a cap also! 
Pray, friend, what might this cap have cost originally?" — "That, 
Sir," says he, " I don't know; but this cap is all the wages I have for 
my trouble." — "A very small recompense, truly," said I. "Not so 
very small," replied he, "for every gentleman puts some money 
into it, and I spend the money." — "What — more money! still 
more money!" — "Every gentleman gives something, Sir." — "I'll 
give thee nothing," returned I; " the guardians of the temple should 
pay you your wages, friend, and not permit you to squeeze thus 
from every spectator. \\'hen we pay our money at the door to see 
a show, we never give more as we are going out. Sm-e the guard- 
ians of the temple can never think they get enough. Show me the 
gate ; if I stay longer I may probably meet with more of those eccle- 
siastical beggars." 

Thus leaving the temple precipitately, I returned to my lodgings, 
in order to ruminate over what was great, and to despise what was 
mean, in the occurrences of the day. 



LETTER XIV 

To the Same 9 

THE RECEPTION OF THE CHINESE PHILOSOPHER FROM A LADY OF 
DISTINCTION 

I WAS some days ago agreeably surprised by a message from 
a lady of distinction, who sent me word, that she most passion- 
ately desired the pleasure of my acquaintance, and, with the utmost 
impatience, expected an inter\iew. I will not deny, my dear Fum 
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Hoam, but that my vanity was raised at such an invitation. I 
flattered myself that she had seen me in some pubHc place, and had 
conceived an affection for my person, which thus induced her to 
deviate from the usual decorums of the sex. My imagination 
painted her in all the bloom of youth and beauty. I fancied her 
attended by the Loves and Graces; and I set out with the most 
pleasing expectations of seeing the conquest I had made. 

When I was introduced into her apartment, my expectations 
were quickly at an end; I perceived a little shrivelled figure indo- 
lently reclined on a sofa, who nodded, by way of approbation, at 
my approach. This, as I was afterwards informed, was the lady 
herself, a woman equally distinguished for rank, politeness, taste, 
and understanding. As I was dressed after the fashion of Europe, 
she had taken me for an Englishman, and consequently saluted me 
in her ordinary manner: but when the footman informed her grace 
that I was the gentleman from China, she instantly lifted herself 
from the couch, while her eyes sparkled with unusual vivacity. 
"Bless me! can this be the gentleman that was bom so far from 
home? WTiat an unusual share of somethingness in his whole 
appearance! Lord, how I am charmed with the outlandish cut 
of his face! how bewitching the exotic breadth of his forehead! 
I would give the world to see him in his own country dress. Pray, 
turn about. Sir, and let me see you behind. There, there's a 
travelled air for you! You that attend there, bring up a plate of 
beef cut into small pieces; I have a violent passion to see him eat. 
Pray, Sir, have you got your chop-sticks about you? It will be 
so pretty to see the meat carried to the mouth with a jerk. Pray, 
speak a little Chinese : I have learned some of the language myself. 
Lord! have you nothing pretty from China about you; something 
that one does not know what to do with? I have got twenty 
things from China that are of no use in the world. Look at those 
jars ; they are of the right pea-green : these are the furniture ! " — 
"Dear Madam," said I, "these, though they may appear fine in 
your eyes, are but paltry to a Chinese; but, as they are useful 
utensils, it is proper they should have a place in every apartment." 
— "Useful, Sir!" replied the lady; "sure you mistake; they are of 
no use in the world." — "What! are they not filled with an infusion 
of tea, as in China?" replied I. "Quite empty and useless, upon 
my honour, Sir." — "Then they are the most cumbrous and 
clumsy furniture in the world, as nothing is truly elegant but what 
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unites use with beauty." — "I protest," says the lady, "I shall 
begin to suspect thee of being an actual barbarian. I suppose 
you hold my t%\"0 beautiful pagods in contempt." — "What!" 
cried I, " has Fohi spread his gross superstitions here also ? Pagods 
of all kinds are my aversion." — "A Chinese, a traveller, and want 
taste! it surprises me. Pray, Sir, examine the beauties of that 
Chinese temple which you see at the end of the garden. Is there 
any thing in China more beautiful?" — "Where I stand, I see 
nothing, Madam, at the end of the garden, that may not as well 
be called an Egv-ptian p\Tamid as a Chinese temple ; for that little 
building in view is as like the one as t'other." — "What, Sir! is not 
that a Chinese temple ? you must surely be mistaken. Air. Freeze, 
who designed it, calls it one, and nobody disputes his pretensions 
to taste." I now found it vain to contradict the lady in any thing 
she thought fit to advance ; so was resolved rather to act the disciple 
than the instructor. She took me through several rooms, all 
fiunished as she told me, in the Chinese manner; sprawling dra- 
gons, squatting pagods, and clumsy mandarines, were stuck upon 
every shelf: in turning round, one must have used caution not to 
demolish a part of the precarious furniture. 

In a house like this, thought I, one must live continually upon 
the watch: the inhabitant must resemble a knight in an enchanted 
castle, who expects to meet an adventure at every turning. "But, 
Madam," said I, "do not accidents ever happen to all this finery?" 
— "Man, Sir," replied the lady, ''is bom to misfortunes, and it 
is but fit I should have a share. Three weeks ago, a careless ser- 
vant snapped off the head of a favourite mandarine: I had scarce 
done grieving for that, when a monkey broke a beautiful jar; 
this I took the more to heart, as the injury was done me by a friend. 
However, I survived the calamity; when yesterday crash went 
half a dozen dragons upon the marble hearth-stone : and yet I live ; 
I survive it all: you can't conceive what comfort I find under afflic- 
tions from philosophy. There is Seneca, and Bolingbroke, and 
some others, who guide me through life, and teach me to support 
its calamities." I could not but smile at a woman who makes her 
own misfortunes, and then deplores the miseries of her sitviation. 
Wherefore, tired of acting with dissimulation, and willing to indulge 
my meditations in solitude, I took leave just as the servant was 
bringing in a plate of beef, pursuant to the directions of his mistress. 
AdieiL 

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LETTER XXI 

To the Same 

THE PHILOSOPHER GOES TO SEE A PLAY 

THE English are as fond of seeing plays acted as the Chinese ; 
but there is a vast difiference in the manner of conducting 
them. We play our pieces in the open air, the English theirs imder 
cover; we act by daylight, they by the blaze of torches. One of our 
plays continues eight or ten days successively; an EngUsh piece 
seldom takes up above four hours in the representation. 

My companion in black, w-ith whom I am now beginning to con- 
tract an intimacy, introduced me a few nights ago to the playhouse, 
where we placed ourselves conveniently at the foot of the stage. 
As the curtain was not drawTi before my arrival, I had an opportu- 
nity of observing the behaviour of the spectators, and indulging 
those reflections which novelty generally inspires. 

The rich in general were placed in the lowest seats, and the poor 
rose above them in degrees proportioned to their poverty. The 
order of precedence seemed here inverted ; those who were under- 
most all the day, now enjoyed a temporary eminence, and became 
masters of the ceremonies. It was they who called for the music, 
indulging every noisy freedom, and testifying all the insolence of 
beggary m exaltation. 

They who held the middle region seemed not so riotous as those 
above them, nor yet so tame as those below : to judge by their looks, 
many of them seemed strangers there as well as myself. They 
were chiefly employed, during this period of expectation, in eating 
oranges, reading the story of the play, or making assignations. 

Those who sat in the lowest rows, which are called the pit, 
seemed to consider themselves as judges of the merit of the poet 
and the performers; they were assembled partly to be amused, and 
partly to show their taste; appearing to labour under that restraint 
which an affectation of superior discernment generally produces. 
My companion, however, informed me, that not one in a hundred of 
them knew even the first principles of criticism; that they assumed 
the right of being censors because there was none to contradict 
their pretensions; and that every man who now called himself a 
connoisseur, became such to all intents and purposes. 

Those who sat in the boxes appeared in the most unhappy situa- 
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tion of all. The rest of the audience came merely for their own 
amusement; these, rather to furnish out a part of the entertain- 
ment themselves. I could not avoid considering them as acting 
parts in dumb show — not a courtesy or nod, that was not all the 
result of art ; not a look nor a smile that was not designed for mur- 
der. Gentlemen and ladies ogled each other through spectacles; 
for, my companion observed, that bUndness was of late become 
fashionable; all affected indifference and ease, while their hearts at 
the same time burned for conquest. Upon the whole, the hghts, 
the music, the ladies in their gayest dresses, the men with cheerful- 
ness and expectation in their looks, all conspired to make a most 
agreeable picture, and to fill a heart that sympathizes at human 
happiness ■^^'ith inexpressible serenity. 

The expected time for the play to begin at last arrived; the 
curtain was drawn, and the actors came on. A woman, who per- 
sonated a queen, came in curtseying to the audience, who clapped 
their hands upon her appearance. Clapping of hands is, it seems, 
the manner of applauding in England; the manner is absurd, but 
every country, you know, has its pecuUar absurdities. I was 
equally surprised, however, at the submission of the actress, who 
should have considered herself as a queen, as at the httle discern- 
ment of the audience who gave her such marks of applause before 
she attempted to deserve them. PreHminaries between her and 
the audience being thus adjusted, the dialogue was supported 
between her and a most hopeful youth, who acted the part of her 
confidant. They both appeared in extreme distress, for it seems 
the queen had lost a child some fifteen years before, and still kept its 
dear resemblance next her heart, while her kind companion bore a 
part in her sorrows. 

Her lamentations grew loud; comfort is offered, but she detests 
the very sound : she bids them preach comfort to the winds. Upon 
this her husband comes in, who, seeing the queen so much afflicted, 
can himself hardly refrain from tears, or avoid partaking in the soft 
distress. After thus grieving through three scenes, the curtain 
dropped for the first act. 

" Truly," said I to my companion, " these kings and queens are 
very much disturbed at no very great misfortune: certain I am, 
were people of humbler stations to act in this manner, they would 
be thought divested of common sense." I had scarcely finished 
this observation, when the curtain rose, and the king came on in a 
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violent passion. His wife had, it seems, refused his proffered ten- 
derness, had spurned his royal embrace, and he seemed resolved 
not to survive her fierce disdain. After he had thus fretted, and 
the queen had fretted through the second act, the curtain was let 
down once more. 

"Now," says my companion, "you perceive the king to be a 
man of spirit ; he feels at every pore : one of your phlegmatic sons of 
clay would have given the queen her own way, and let her come to 
herself by degrees; but the king is for immediate tenderness, or 
instant death: death and tenderness are leading passions of every 
modem buskined hero; this moment they embrace, and the next 
stab, mixing daggers and kisses in every period." 

I was going to second his remarks, when my attention was 
engrossed by a new object ; a man came in balancing a straw upon 
his nose, and the audience were clapping their hands in all the rap- 
tures of applause. "To what purpose," cried I, "does this im- 
meaning figure make his appearance ? is he a part of the plot ? " — 
"Unmeaning do you call him?" replied my friend in black; "this 
is one of the most important characters of the whole play; nothing 
pleases the people more than seeing a straw balanced: there is a 
good deal of meaning in the straw: there is something suited to 
every apprehension in the sight ; and a fellow possessed of talents 
like these is sure of making his fortune." 

The third act now began with an actor who came to inform us 
that he was the villain of the play, and intended to show strange 
things before all was over. He was joined by another who seemed 
as much disposed for mischief as he: their intrigues continued 
through this whole division. "If that be a \allain," said I, " he 
must be a very stupid one to tell his secrets without being asked; 
such soliloquies of late are never admitted in China." 

The noise of clapping interrupted me once more; a child of six 
years old was learning to dance on the stage, which gave the ladies 
and mandarines infinite satisfaction. "I am sorry," said I, "to 
see the pretty creature so early learning so very bad a trade; 
dancing being, I presume, as contemptible here as in China." — 
"Quite the reverse," interrupted my companion; "dancing is a 
very reputable and genteel employment here; men have a greater 
chance for encouragement from the merit of their heels than their 
heads. One who jumps up and flourishes his toes three times 
before he comes to the groimd, may have three hundred a year; he 

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who flourishes them four times, gets four hundred; but he who 
arrives at five is inestimable, and may demand what salary he 
thinks proper. The female dancers, too, are valued for this scrt 
of jumping and crossing; and it is a cant word amongst them, that 
she deserves most who shows highest. But the fourth act is begun ; 
let us be attentive." 

In the fourth act the queen finds her long lost child, now grown 
up into a youth of smart parts and great qualifications; wherefore 
she wisely considers that the crown will fit his head better than that 
of her husband, whom she knows to be a driveller. The king dis- 
covers her design, and here comes on the deep distress: he loves the 
queen, and he loves the kingdom; he resolves, therefore, in order 
to possess both, that her son must die. The queen exclaims at his 
barbarity, is frantic with rage, and at length, overcome with sor- 
row, falls into a fit; upon which the curtain drops, and the act is 
concluded. 

"Observe the art of the poet," cries my companion. "When 
the queen can say no more, she falls into a fit. While thus her 
eyes are shut, while she is supported in the arms of Abigail, what 
horrors do we not fancy! We feel it in every nerve: take my word 
for it, that fits are the true aposiopesis of modern tragedy." 

The fifth act began, and a busy piece it was. Scenes shifting, 
trumpets sounding, mobs hallooing, carpets spreading, guards 
bustling from one door to another; gods, demons, daggers, racks, 
and ratsbane. But whether the king was killed, or the queen was 
drowned, or the son was poisoned, I have absolutely forgotten. 

When the play was over, I could not avoid observing, that the 
persons of the drama appeared in as much distress in the first act 
as in the last. "How is it possible," said I, "to sympathize with 
them through five long acts ? Pity is but a short lived passion. I 
hate to hear an actor mouthing trifles. Neither startings, strain- 
ings, nor attitudes, affect me, unless there be cause: after I have 
been once or twice deceived by those unmeaning alarms, my 
heart sleeps in peace, probably unaffected by the principal distress. 
There should be one great passion aimed at by the actor as weU as 
the poet; all the rest should be subordinate, and only contribute to 
make that the greater; if the actor, therefore, exclaims upon every 
occasion, in the tones of despair, he attempts to move us too soon; 
he anticipates the blow, he ceases to affect, though he gains our 
applause." 

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I scarce perceived that the audience were abnost aU departed; 
wherefore, mixing with the crowd, my companion and I got into 
the street, where, essaying a hundred obstacles from coach-wheels 
and palanquin poles, like birds in their flight through the branches 
of a forest, after various turnings, we both at length got home in 
safety. Adieu. 

LETTER XXVI 

To the Same 

THE CHARACTER OF THE MAN IN BLACK; WITH SOME INSTANCES 
OF HIS INCONSISTENT CONDUCT 

THOUGH fond of many acquaintances, I desire an intimacy 
only with a few. The man in black, whom I have often men- 
tioned, is one whose friendship I could wish to acquire, because he 
possesses my esteem. His manners, it is true, are tinctured with 
some strange inconsistencies, and he may be justly termed a hu- 
mourist in a nation of humourists. Though he is generous even to 
profusion, he affects to be thought a prodigy of parsimony and pru- 
dence ; though his conversation be replete with the most sordid and 
selfish maxims, his heart is dilated with the most unbounded love. 
I have known him profess himself a man-hater, while his cheek was 
glowing with compassion; and, while his looks were softened into 
pity, I have heard him use the language of the most unboimded 
ill-nature. Some affect humanity and tenderness, others boast of 
having such dispositions from nature ; but he is the only man I ever 
knew who seemed ashamed of his natural benevolence. He takes 
as much pains to hide his feelings, as any hypocrite would to conceal 
his indifference; but on every unguarded moment the mask drops 
off, and reveals him to the most superficial observer. 

In one of our late excursions into the country, happening to dis- 
course upon the provision that was made for the poor in England, 
he seemed amazed how any of his countrymen could be so foolishly 
weak as to relieve occasional objects of charity, when the laws had 
made much ample provision for their support. "In every parish- 
house," says he, "the poor are supplied with food, clothes, fire, 
and a bed to lie on; they want no more, I desire no more myself; 
yet still they seem discontented. I am surprised at the inactivity 
of our magistrates, in not talking up such vagrants, who are only a 
weight upon the industrious; I am surprised that the people are 

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found to relieve them, when they must be at the same time sensible 
that it, in some measure, encourages idleness, extravagance, and 
imposture. Were I to advise any man for whom I had the least re- 
gard, I would caution him by all means not to be imposed upon by 
their false pretences: let me assure you, Sir, they are imposters, 
every one of them, and rather merit a prison than relief." 

He was proceeding in this strain, earnestly to dissuade me from 
an imprudence of which I am seldom guilty, when an old man, who 
still had about him the remnants of tattered finery, implored our 
compassion. He assured us that he was no common beggar, but 
forced into the shameful profession, to support a dying wife, and 
five hungry children. Being prepossessed against such falsehoods, 
his story had not the least influence upon me ; but it was quite other- 
wise with the man in black; I could see it visibly operate upon his 
countenance, and effectually interrupt his harangue. I could easily 
perceive, that his heart burned to relieve the five starving children, 
but he seemed ashamed to discover his weakness to me. While 
he thus hesitated between compassion and pride, I pretended to 
look another way, and he seized this opportunity of giving the poor 
petitioner a piece of silver, bidding him at the same time, in order 
that I should hear, go work for his bread, and not tease passengers 
with such impertinent falsehoods for the future. 

As he had fancied him^self quite unperceived, he continued, as we 
proceeded, to rail against beggars with as much animosity as before; 
he threw in some episodes on his own amazing prudence and econ- 
omy, with his profound skill in discovering imposters ; he explained 
the manner in which he would deal with beggars were he a magis- 
trate, hinted at enlarging some of the prisons for their reception, 
and told two stories of ladies that were robbed by beggarmen. He 
was beginning a third to the same purpose, when a sailor with a 
wooden leg once more crossed our walks, desiring our pity, and 
blessing our limbs. I was for going on without taking any notice, 
but my friend looking wishfully upon the poor petitioner, bid me 
stop, and he would show me with how much ease he could at any 
time detect an impostor. 

He now, therefore, assumed a look of importance, and in an 
angry tone began to examine the sailor, demanding in what engage- 
ment he was thus disabled and rendered vmfit for service. The 
sailor replied, in a tone as angrily as he, that he had been an officer 
on board a private ship of war, and that he had lost his leg abroad, 
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CITIZEN OF THE WORLD 

in defence of those who did nothing at home. At this reply, all my 
friend's importance vanished in a moment; he had not a single 
question more to ask; he now only studied what method he should 
take to relieve him unobserved. He had, however, no easy part to 
act, as he was obliged to preserve the appearance of ill-nature before 
me, and yet relieve himself by relieving the sailor. Casting, there- 
fore, a furious look upon some bundles of chips which the fellow 
carried in a string at his back, my friend demanded how he sold his 
matches; but, not waiting for a reply, desired, in a surly tone, to 
have a shilling's worth. The sailor seemed at first surprised at his 
demand, but soon recollected himself, and presenting his whole 
bundle, "Here, master," says he, "take all my cargo, and a blessing 
into the bargain." 

It is impossible to describe with what an air of triumph my friend 
marched off with his new purchase: he assured me, that he was 
firmly of opinion that tl^ose fellows must have stolen their goods, 
who could thus afford to sell them for half value. He informed me 
of several different uses to which those chips might be applied; he 
expatiated largely upon the savings that would result from lighting 
candles with a match, instead of thrusting them into the fire. He 
averred, that he would as soon have parted with a tooth as his money 
to those vagabonds, unless for some valuable consideration. I can- 
not tell how long this panegyric upon frugality and matches might 
have continued, had not his attention been called off by another 
object more distressful than either of the former. A woman in 
rags, with one child in her arms, and another on her back, was at- 
tempting to sing ballads, but with such a mournful voice, that it was 
difficult to determine whether she was singing or crying. A wretch, 
who in the deepest distress still aimed at good-humour, was an 
object my friend was by no means capable of withstanding : his viva- 
city and his discourse were instantly interrupted ; upon this occa- 
sion, his very dissimulation had forsaken him. Even in my pres- 
ence he immediately applied his hands to his pockets, in order to 
relieve her; but guess his confusion when he found he had already 
given away aU the money he carried about him to former objects. 
The misery painted in the woman's visage was not half so strongly 
expressed as the agony in his. He continued to search for some 
time, but to no purpose, till, at length recollecting himself, with a 
face of ineffable good -nature, as he had no money, he put into her 
hands his shilling's worth of matches. 

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CITIZEN OF THE WORLD 

LETTER XXVII 

To the Same 

THE HISTORY OF THE MAN IN BLACK 

AS there appeared something reluctantly good in the character 
of my companion, I must own it surprised me what could be 
his motives for thus concealing virtues which others take such 
pains to display. I was unable to repress my desire of knovdng 
the history of a man who thus seemed to act under continual 
restraint, and whose benevolence was rather the effect of appetite 
than reason. 

It was not, however, till after repeated solicitations he thought 
proper to gratify my curiosity. "If you are fond," says he, "of 
hearing hairbreadth 'scapes, my history must certainly please; 
for I have been for twenty years upon the very verge of starving, 
vidthout ever being starved. 

"My father, the younger son of a good family, was possessed 
of a small Uving in the church. His education was above his 
fortime, and his generosity greater than his education. Poor as 
he was, he had his flatterers still poorer than himself; for every 
dinner he gave them, they returned an equivalent in praise; and 
this was all he wanted. The same ambition that actuates a mon- 
arch at the head of an army, influenced my father at the head of 
his table. He told the story of the ivy-tree, and that was laughed 
at; he repeated the jest of the two scholars and one pair of breeches, 
and the company laughed at that; but the story of Taffy in the 
sedan-chair, was sure to set the table in a roar. Thus his pleasure 
increased in proportion to the pleasure he gave; he loved all the 
world, and he fancied all the world loved him. 

" As his fortvme was but small, he hved up to the very extent of 
it; he had no intentions of leaving his children money, for that 
was dross; he was resolved they should have learning; for learning, 
he used to observe, was better than silver or gold. For this purpose, 
he undertook to instruct us himself; and took as much pains to 
form our morals, as to improve our understanding. We were 
told, that imiversal benevolence was what first cemented society; 
we were taught to consider all the wants of mankind as our own; 
to regard the 'human face divine' with affection and esteem; 
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CITIZEN OF THE WORLD 

he wound us up to be mere machines of pity, and rendered us 
incapable of withstanding the sHghtest impulse made either by real 
or fictitious distress: in a word, we were perfectly instructed in the 
art of giving away thousands, before we were taught the more 
necessary qualifications of getting a farthing. 

"I cannot avoid imagining, that thus refined by his lessons out 
of all my suspicion, and divested of even all the Uttle cunning which 
nature had given me, I resembled, upon my first entrance into the 
busy and insidious world, one of those gladiators who were exposed 
without armour in the amphitheatre at Rome. My father, how- 
ever, who had only seen the world on one side, seemed to triumph 
in my superior discernment; though my whole stock of wisdom 
consisted in being able to talk like himself upon subjects that once 
were useful, because they were then topics of the busy world, but 
that now were utterly useless, because connected with the busy 
world no longer. 

"The first opportunity he had of finding his expectations dis- 
appointed, was in the very middUng figure I made in the university; 
he had flattered himself that he should soon see me rising into the 
foremost rank in literary reputation, but was mortified to find me 
utterly unnoticed and unknown. His disappointment might have 
been partly ascribed to his having overrated my talents, and partly 
to my dislike of mathematical reasonings, at a time when my 
imagination and memory, yet unsatisfied, were more eager after 
new objects, than desirous of reasoning upon those I knew. This 
did not, however, please my tutor, who observed, indeed, that I 
was a Httle dull; but at the same time allowed, that I seemed to be 
very good-natured, and had no harm in me. 

"After I had resided at college seven years, my father died, 
and left me — his blessing. Thus shoved from shore without 
ill-nature to protect, or cunning to guide, or proper stores to sub- 
sist me in so dangerous a voyage, I was obliged to embark in the 
wide world at twenty-two. But, in order to settle in life, my 
friends advised, (for they always advise when they begin to despise 
us ) they advised me, I say, to go into orders. 

"To be obliged to wear a long wig, when I Hked a short one, 
or a black coat, when I generally dressed in brown, I thought was 
such a restraint upon my liberty, that I absolutely rejected the 
proposal. A priest in England is not the same mortified creature 
with a bonze in China. With us, not he that fasts best, but eats 
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best, is reckoned the best liver; yet I rejected a life of luxury, indo- 
lence, and ease, from no other consideration but that boyish one of 
dress. So that my friends were now perfectly satisfied I was 
imdone; and yet they thought it a pity for one who had not the 
least harm in him, and was so very good-natured. 

"Poverty naturally begets dependence, and I was admitted as 
flatterer to a great man. At first, I was siirprised that the situa- 
tion of a flatterer at a great man's table could be thought disagree- 
able: there was no great trouble in listening attentively when his 
lordship spoke, and laughing when he looked rovmd for applause. 
This even good manners might have obliged me to perform. I 
found, however, too soon, that his lordship was a greater dimce 
than myself; and from that very moment flattery was at an end. 
I now rather aimed at setting him right, than at receiving his absur- 
dities with submission. To flatter those we do not know is an 
easy task; but to flatter our intimate acquaintances, aU whose 
foibles are strongly in our eye, is drudgery insupportable. Every 
time I now opened my lips in praise, my falsehood went to my 
conscience: his lordship soon perceived me to be very imfit for 
service; I was therefore discharged; my patron at the same time 
being graciously pleased to observe, that he believed I was tolerably 
good-natured, and had not the least harm in me. 

"Disappointed in ambition, I had recourse to love. A yoimg 
lady, who lived with her axmt, and was possessed of a pretty fortime 
in her own disposal, had given me, as I fancied, some reason to 
expect success. The symptoms by which I was guided were 
striking. She had always laughed with me at her awkward ac- 
quaintance, and at her aimt among the number; she always 
observed, that a man of sense would make a better husband than 
a fool, and I as constantly applied the observation in my own 
favour. She continually talked, in my company, of friendship and 
the beauties of the mind, and spoke of Mr. Shrimp my rival's high- 
heeled shoes with detestation. These were circumstances which 
I thought strongly in my favoiu-; so, after resolving, and re-resolv- 
ing, I had courage enough to tell her my mind. Miss heard my 
proposal with serenity, seeming at the same time to study the 
figures of her fan. Out at last it came: There was but one small 

objection to complete our happiness, which was no more than 

that she was married three months before to Mr. Shrimp, with 

high-heeled shoes! By way of consolation, however, she observed, 

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that, though I was disappointed in her, my addresses to her aunt 
would probably kindle her into sensibility; as the old lady always 
allowed me to be very good-natured, and not to have the least 
share of harm in me. 

"Yet still I had friends, numerous friends, and to them I was 
resolved to apply. O friendship! thou fond soother of the human 
breast, to thee we fly in every calamity; to thee the wretched seek 
for succour; on thee the care -tired son of misery fondly relies; from 
thy kind assistance the unfortunate always hopes relief, and may 
be ever sure of — disappointment! My first application was to a 
city scrivener, who had frequently offered to lend me money, when 
he knew I did not want it. I informed him, that now was the 
time to put his friendship to the test; that I wanted to borrow a 
couple of hundreds for a certain occasion, and was resolved to take 
it up from him. 'And pray. Sir,' cried my friend, 'do you want 
all this money?' — 'Indeed, I never wanted it more,' returned I. 
' I am sorry for that,' cries the scrivener, 'with all my heart; for they 
who want money when they come to borrow, will always want 
money when they should come to pay.' 

"From him I flew with indignation, to one of the best friends 
I had in the world, and made the same request. 'Indeed, ]Mr. 
Drybone,' cries my friend, 'I always thought it would come to this. 
You know, Sir, I would not advise you but for your own good ; but 
your conduct has hitherto been ridiculous in the highest degree, 
and some of your acquaintance always thought you a very silly 
fellow. Let me see — you want two hundred poimds. Do you 
( nly want two hundred. Sir, exactly?' — 'To confess a truth,' 
returned I, 'I shall want three hundred; but then I have another 
friend, from whom I can borrow the rest.' — 'Why, then,' replied 
my friend, 'if you would take my advice, (and you know I should 
not presume to advise you but for your own good), I would recom- 
mend it to you to borrow the whole sum from that other friend, 
and then one note will serve for all, you know.' 

"Poverty now began to come fast upon me; yet instead of grow- 
ing more pro\ddent or cautious as I grew poor, I became every day 
more indolent and simple. A friend was arrested for fifty pounds; 
I was unable to extricate him, except by becoming his bail. When 
at liberty, he fled from his creditors, and left me to take his place. 
In prison I expected greater satisfactions than I had enjoyed at 
large. I hoped to converse with men in this new world, simple 

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and believing like myself; but I found them as cunning and as 
cautious as those in the world I had left behind. They spunged 
up my money while it lasted, borrowed my coals and never paid 
for them, and cheated me when I played at cribbage. All this was 
done because they beheved me to be very good-natured, and knew 
that I had no harm in me. 

"Upon my first entrance into this mansion, which is to some 
the abode of despair, I felt no sensations different from those I 
experienced abroad. I was now on one side the door, and those 
who were unconfined were on the other: this was all the difference 
between us. At first, indeed, I felt some uneasiness, in consider- 
ing how I should be able to provide this week for the wants of the 
week ensuing; but, after some time, if I found myself sure of eating 
one day, I never troubled my head how I was to be suppHed another. 
I seized every precarious meal with the utmost good -humour; 
indulged no rants of spleen at my situation; never called down 
heaven and all the stars to behold me dining upon a halfpenny 
worth of radishes; my very companions were taught to beheve that 
I liked salad better than mutton. I contented myself with think- 
ing, that all my life I should either eat white bread or browoi; con- 
sidered that all that happened was best ; laughed when 1 was not 
in pain, took the world as it went, and read Tacitus often, for want 
of more books and company. 

"How long I might have continued in this torpid state of sim- 
plicity I cannot tell, had I not been roused by seeing an old ac- 
quaintance, whom I knew to be a prudent block-head, preferred 
to a place in the government. I now found that I had pursued 
a wrong track, and that the true way of being able to reheve others, 
was first to aim at independence myself. My immediate care, 
therefore, was to leave my present habitation, and make an entire 
reformation in my conduct and behaviour. For a free, open, 
undesigning deportment, I put on that of closeness, prudence, and 
economy. One of the most heroic actions I ever performed, and 
for which I shall praise myself as long as I Uve, was the refusing 
half-a-crown to an old acquaintance, at the time when he wanted 
it, and I had it to spare: for this alone I deserve to be decreed an 
ovation. 

"I now therefore pursued a course of uninterrupted frugahty, 
seldom wanted a dinner, and was consequently invited to twenty. 
I soon began to get the character of a saving hunks that had money, 
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and insensibly grew into esteem. Neighbours have asked my 
advice in the disposal of their daughters; and I have always taken 
care not to give any. I have contracted a friendship with an alder, 
man, only by observing, that if we take a farthing from a thousand 
pounds, it will be a thousand pounds no longer. I have been in- 
vited to a pawnbroker's table, by pretending to hate gravy, and 
am now actually upon treaty of marriage with a rich widow, for 
only having observed that the bread was rising. If ever I am 
asked a question, whether I know it or not, instead of answering, 
I only smile and look wise. If a charity is proposed, I go about 
with the hat, but put nothing in myself. If a wTetch soHcits my 
pity, I observe that the world is filled with impostors, and take a 
certain method of not being deceived, by never relieving. In short 
I now find the truest way of finding esteem, even from the indigent 
is — to give away nothing, and thus have much in our power to 
give." 

LETTER XXVIII 

To the Same 

ON THE GREAT NUMBER OF OLD MAIDS AND BACHELORS IN LONDON — 
SOME OF THE CAUSES 

LATELY, in company with my friend in black, whose conversa- 
tion is now both by amusement and instruction, I could not 
avoid observing the great numbers of old bachelors and maiden 
ladies with which this city seems to be overrun. " Sure, marriage," 
said I, "is not sufficiently encouraged, or we should never behold 
such crowds of battered beaux and decayed coquettes, still attempt- 
ing to drive a trade they have been so long unfit for, and swarming 
upon the gaity of the age. I behold an old bachelor in the most 
contemptible light, as an animal that lives upon the common stock 
without contributing his share: he is a beast of prey, and the laws 
should make use of as many stratagems, and as much force, to 
drive the reluctant savage into the toils, as the Indians when they 
hunt the rhinoceros. The mob should be permitted to halloo 
after him, boys might play tricks on him with impunity, every well- 
bred company should laugh at him ; and if, when turned of sixty, he 
offered to make love, his mistress might spit in his face,or,whatwould 
be perhaps a greater punishment, should fairly grant the favour. 

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"As for old maids," continued I, "they should not be treated 
with so much severity, because I suppose none would be so if they 
could. No lady in her senses would choose to make a subordinate 
figure at christenings or h-ings-in, when she might be the principal 
herself; nor curry favour with a sister-in-law, when she might 
command a husband; nor toil in preparing custards, when she might 
lie a-bed, and give directions how they ought to be made; nor stifle 
all her sensations in demure formality, when she might, with 
matrimonial freedom, shake her acquaintance by the hand, and 
wink at a double entendre. No lady could be so very silly as to live 
single, if she could help it. I consider an unmarried lady, declining 
into the vale of years, as one of those charming countries bordering 
on China, that lies waste for want of proper inhabitants. We are 
not to accuse the countr}-, but the ignorance of its neighbours, who 
are insensible of its beauties, though at liberty to enter and cultivate 
the soil." 

"Indeed, Sir," replied my companion, "you are very little 
acquainted with the English ladies, to think they are old maids 
against their wiU. I dare ventvu^e to affirm, that you can hardly 
select one of them all, but has had frequent offers of marriage, 
which either pride or avarice has not made her reject. Instead of 
thinking it a disgrace, they take every occasion to boast of their 
former cruelty; a soldier does not exult more when he counts over 
the wounds he has received, than a female veteran when she relates 
the wounds she has formerly given: exhaustless when she begins a 
narrative of the former death-dealing power of her eyes, she tells 
of the knight in gold lace, who died with a single frown, and never 
rose again till — he was married to his maid ; of the sqmre who, 
being cruelly denied, in a rage flew to the window, and lifting up 
the sash, threw himself, in an agony — into his arm-chair; of the 
parson, who, crossed in love, resolutely swallowed opium, which 
banished the stings of despised love by — making him sleep. In 
short, she talks over her former losses with pleasure, and, like some 
tradesmen, finds consolation in the many bankruptcies she has 
suffered. 

"For this reason, whenever I see a superannuated beauty still 
unmarried, I tacitly accuse her either of pride, avarice, coquetry, 
or affectation. There's Miss Jenny Tinderbox: I once remember 
her to have had some beauty, and a moderate fortime. Her elder 
sister happened to marry a man of quality, and this seemed as a 
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statute of virginity against poor Jane. Because there was one 
lucky hit in the family, she was resolved not to disgrace it by intro- 
ducing a tradesman; thus, rejecting her equals, and neglected or 
despised by her superiors, she now acts in the capacity of tutoress 
to her sister's children, and imdergces the drudgery of three ser- 
vants without recei\'ing the wages of one. 

"]\Iiss Squeeze was a pawTibroker's daughter; her father had 
early taught her that money was a very good thing, and left her a 
moderate fortune at his death. She was so perfectly sensible of the 
\alue of what she had got, that she was resolved never to part with 
a farthing without an equality on the part of her suitor; she thus 
refused several offers made her by people who wanted to better 
themselves, as the sa\ing is, and grew old and ill-natured, without 
ever considering that she should have made an abatement in her 
pretensions, from her face being pale, and marked with the small- 
pox. 

" Lady Betty Tempest, on the contrary, had beauty, with fortune 
and family. But, fond of conquest, she passed from triumph to 
triumph: she had read plays and romances, and there had learned, 
that a plain man of common sense was no better than a fool. Such 
she refused, and sighed only for the gay, giddy, inconstant, and 
thoughtless. After she had thus rejected hvmdreds who liked her, 
and sighed for hundreds who despised her, she fo'und herself insen- 
sibly deserted. At present she is company only for her aunts 
and cousins, and sometimes makes one in a country-dance, with 
only one of the chairs for a partner, casts off round a joint-stool, 
and sets to a comer cupboard. Li a word, she is treated with 
cinl contempt from every quarter, and placed, like a piece of 
old-fashioned lumber, merely to fill up a comer. 

"But Sophronia, the sagacious Sophronia! how shall I mention 
her? She was taught to love Greek, and hate the men from her 
very infancy. She has rejected fine gentlemen because they were 
nf.t pedants, and pedants because they were not fine gentlemen; 
her exquisite sensibility has taught her to discover everj^ fault in 
every lover, and her inflexible justice has prevented her pardoning 
them: thus she rejected several offers, till the wrinkles of age had 
overtaken her; and now, without one good featxire in her face, she 
talks incessantly of the beauties of the mind." — Farewell, 



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LETTER XXIX 

To the Same 

A DESCRIPTION OF A CLUB OF AUTHORS 

WERE we to estimate the learning of the EngHsh by the num- 
ber of books that are every day published among them, 
perhaps no coimtry, not even China itself, could equal them in this 
particular. I have reckoned not less than twenty-three new books 
published in one day, which, upon computation, makes eight 
thousand three hundred and ninety-five in one year. Most of 
these are not confined to one single science, but embrace the 
whole circle. History, politics, poetry, mathematics, meta- 
physics, and the philosophy of nature, are all comprised in a 
manual not larger than that in which our children are taught 
the letters. If, then, we suppose the learned of England to read 
but an eighth part of the works which daily come from the press 
(and surely none can pretend to learning upon less easy terms), at 
this rate every scholar will read a thousand books in one year. 
From such a calculation, you may conjecture what an amazing 
fund of literature a man must be possessed of, who thus reads 
three new books every day, not one of which but contains all the 
good things that ever were said or written. 

And yet I know not how it happens, but the English are not, in 
reality, so learned as would seem from this calculation. We meet 
but few who know all arts and sciences to perfection ; whether it is 
that the generality are incapable of such extensive knowledge, or 
that the authors of those books are not adequate instructors. In 
China, the Emperor himself takes cognizance of all the doctors in 
the kingdom who profess authorship. In England, every man 
may be an author, that can write; for they have by law a liberty, 
not only of saying what they please, but of being also as dull as they 
please. 

Yesterday, I testified my surprise, to the man in black, where 
writers could be found in sufficient number to throw off the books 
I daily saw crowding from the press. I at first imagined that their 
learned seminaries might take this method of instructing the world. 
But to obviate this objection, my companion assured me, that the 
doctors of colleges never wrote, and that some of them had actually 
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forgot their reading; "but if you desire," continued he, "to see a 
collection of authors, I fancy I can introduce you this evening to 
a club, which assembles every Saturday at seven, at the sign of The 
Broom, near Islington, to talk over the business of the last, and the 
entertainment of the week ensuing." I accepted his invitation; 
we walked together, and entered the house some time before the 
usual hour for the company assembling. 

My friend took this opportunity of letting me into the characters 
of the principal members of the club, not even the host excepted, 
who, it seems, was once an author himself, but preferred by a book- 
seller to this situation as a reward for his former services. 

"The first person," said he, "of our society, is Doctor Nonentity, 
a metaphysician. Most people think him a profound scholar; but, 
as he seldom speaks, I cannot be positive in that particular; he gen- 
erally spreads himself before the fire, sucks his pipe, talks little, 
drinks much, and is reckoned very good company. I'm told he 
writes indexes to perfection: he makes essays on the origin of evil, 
philosophical enquiries upon any subject, and draws up an answer 
to any book upon twenty-four hours warning. You may distinguish 
him from the rest of the company by his long grey wig, and the blue 
handkerchief round his neck. 

" The next to him in merit and esteem is Tim Syllabub, a droll 
creature: he sometimes shines as a star of the first magnitude among 
the choice spirits of the age : he is reckoned equally excellent at 
a rebus, a riddle, a bawdy song, and a hymn for the Tabernacle. 
You will know him by his shabby finery, his powdered wig, dirty 
shirt, and broken silk stockings. 

"After him succeeds Mr. Tibs, a very useful hand: he writes 
receipts for the bite of a mad dog, and throws off an Eastern tale 
to perfection; he understands the business of an author as well as 
any man ; for no bookseller alive can cheat him. You may distin- 
guish him by the peculiar clumsiness of his figure, and the coarseness 
of his coat; however, though it be coarse (as he frequently tells the 
company), he has paid for it. 

" Lawyer Squint is the politician of the society: he makes speeches 
for Parliament, writes addresses to his fellow-subjects, and letters 
to noble commanders ; he gives the history of every new play, and 
finds seasonable thoughts upon every occasion.' My companion 
was proceeding in his description, when the host came running in, 
with terror on his countenance, to tell us that the door was beset with 
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bailiffs. "If that be the case, then," says my comp nion, "we 
had as good be going; for I am positive we shall not see one of the 
company this night." Wherefore, disappointed, we were both 
obliged to return home — he to enjoy the oddities which compose 
his character alone, and I to write as usual to my friend the occur- 
rences of the day. Adieu. 



LETTER XXX 
To the Satm 

THE PROCEEDINGS OF XHE CLUB OF AUTHORS 

BY my last advices from Moscow, I find the caravan has not yet 
departed for China: I still continue to write, expecting that 
you may receive a large number of letters at once. In them you will 
find rather a minute detail of English peculiarities, than a general 
picture of their manners or disposition. Happy it were for mankind, 
if all travellers would thus, instead of characterizing a people in 
general terms, lead us into a detail of those minute circumstances 
which first influenced their opinion. The genius of a country 
should be investigated with a kind of experimental enquiry: by this 
means, we should have more precise and just notions of foreign 
nations, and detect travellers themselves when they happened to 
form wrong conclusions. 

My friend and I repeated our visit to the club of authors; where, 
upon our entrance, we found the members aU assembled, and 
engaged in a loud debate. 

The poet, in shabby finery, holding a manuscript in his hand, 
was earnestly endeavoiu-ing to persuade the company to hear him 
read the first book of an heroic poem, which he had composed the 
day before. But against this all the members very warmly objected. 
They knew no reason why any member of the club should be 
indulged with a particular hearing, when many of them had pub- 
lished whole volumes which had never been looked into. They 
insisted that the law should be observed, where reading in company 
was expressly noticed. It was in vain that the plaintiff pleaded the 
peculiar merit of his piece ; he spoke to an assembly insensible to all 
his remonstrances: the book of laws was opened, and read by the 
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secretary, where it was expressly enacted, "That whatsoever poet, 
speech-maker, critic, or historian, should presvime to engage the 
company by reading his own works, he was to lay down sixpence 
previous to opening the manuscript, and should be charged one 
shilling an hour while he continued reading: the said shilling to be 
equally distributed among the company, as a recompense for their 
trouble." 

Our poet seemed at first to shrink at the penalty, hesitating for 
some time whether he should deposit the fine, or shut up the pcem; 
but, looking round, and perceiving two strangers in the room, his love 
of fame outweighed his prudence, and, laying down the sum by 
law established, he insisted on his prerogative. 

A profound silence ensuing, he began by explaining his design. 
" Gentlemen," says he, " the present piece is not one of your common 
epic poems, which come from the press like paper-kites in summer: 
there are none of your Tumuses or Didos in it; it is an heroical 
■description of nature. I only beg you'll endeavour to make your 
souls unison with mine, and hear with the same enthusiasm with 
which I have written. The poem begins with the description of 
an author's bedchamber : the picture was sketched in my own apart- 
ment; for you must know, gentlemen, that I am myself the hero." 
Then putting himself into the attitude of an orator, with all the 
emphasis of voice and action, he proceeded: 

"Where the Red Lion, flaring o'er the way, 
Invites each passing stranger that can pay; 
Where Calvert's butt, and Parson's black champagne, 
Regale the drabs and bloods of Drury-lane: 
There, in a lonely room, from baiUffs snug. 
The muse found Scroggen stretch'd beneath a rug. 
A window, patch 'd with paper, lent a ray, 
That dimly show'd the state in which he lay; 
The sanded floor that grits beneath the tread; 
The humid wall with paltry pictures spread — 
The Royal Game of Goose was there in view 
And the Twelve Rules the Royal Martyr drew; 
The seasons, fram'd with Usting, found a place. 
And brave Prince William show'd his lamp-black face. 
The morn was cold: he views with keen desire 
The rusty grate, unconscious of a fire: 
With beer and milk arrears the frieze was scor'd. 
And five crack 'd teacups dress'd the chimney board; 
A night-cap deck'd his brows instead of bay, 
A cap by night — a stocking all the day ! " 

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With this last line he seemed so much elated, that he was imable 
to proceed. "There, gentlemen," cries he, ''there is a description 
for you; Rabelais 's bed-chamber is but a fool to it: 

* A cap by night — a slocking all the day!' 

There is soimd, and sense, and truth, and nature in the trifling com- 
pass of ten little syllables." 

He was too much employed in self -ad miration to observe the 
company; who, by nods, winks, shrugs, and stifled laughter, testified 
ever\' mark of contempt. He turned severally to each for their 
opinion, and found all, however, ready to applaud. One swore it 
was inimitable; another said it was damn'd fine; and a third cried 
out in a rapture " Carissinio ! " At last, addressing himself to the 
president, "And pray, ^Ir. Squint," says he, "let us have your 
opinion." — "Mine!" answered the president (taking the manu- 
script out of the author's hand) ; " may this glass suffocate me, but I 
think it equal to any thing I have seen; and I fancy" (continued he, 
doubling up the poem and forcing it into the author's pocket) 
"that you will get great honour when it comes out; so I shall beg 
leave to put it in. We will not intrude upon your good -nature, in 
desiring to hear more of it at present; ex ungiie Herculem, we are 
satisfied, perfectly satisfied." The author made tn^o or three at- 
tempts to puU it out a second time, and the president made as 
many to prevent him. Thus, though with reluctance, he was at 
last obliged to sit down, contented with the commendations for 
which he had paid. 

When this tempest of poetry and praise was blown over, one of 
the company changed the subject, by wondering how any man 
could be so dull as to write poetry at present, since prose itself would 
hardly pay. "Would you think it, gentlemen," continued he, "I 
have actually written, last week, sixteen prayers, twelve bawdy 
jests, and three sermons, all at the rate of sixpence a-piece; and, 
what is still more extraordinary, the bookseller has lost by the bar- 
gain. Such sermons would once have gained me a prebend's 
stall; but now, alas ! we have neither piety, taste, nor humour among 
us! Positively, if this season does not turn out better than it has 
begun, unless the ministry commit some blunders to furnish us with 
a new topic of abuse, I shall resume my old business of working 
at the press, instead of finding it emplo}Tnent." 

The whole club seemed to join in condemning the season, as one 

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of the worst that had come for some time : a gentleman particularly 
observed that the nobility were never known to subscribe worse 
than at present. "I know not how it happens," said he, "though 
I follow them up as close as possible, yet I can hardly get a single 
subscription in a week. The houses of the great are as inacces- 
sible as a frontier garrison at midnight. I never see a nobleman's 
door half opened, that some surly porter or footman does not stand 
full in the breach. I was yesterday to wait with a subscription 
proposal upon my Lord Squash, the Creolian. I had posted myself 
at his door the whole morning, and, just as he was getting into his 
coach, thrust my proposal snug into his hand, folded up in the form 
of a letter from myself. He just glanced at the superscription, 
and not knowing the hand, consigned it to his valet-de-chambre; 
this respectable personage treated it as his master, and put it into 
the hands of the porter; the porter grasped my proposal frowning; 
and, measuring my figure from top to toe, put it back into my own 
hands imopened." 

"To the devil I pitch all the nobility!" cries a little man, in a 
peculiar accent; " I am sure they have of late used me most scurvily. 
You must know, gentlemen, some time ago, upon the arrival of a 
certain noble duke from his travels, I sat myself down, and vamped 
up a fine flaunting poetical paneg}Tic, which I had written in such 
a strain, that I fancied it would have even wheedled milk from a 
mouse. In this I represented the whole kingdom welcoming his 
grace to his native soil, not forgetting the loss France and Italy 
would sustain in their arts by his departure. I expected to touch 
for a bank-bill at least; so, folding up my verses in gilt paper, I 
gave my last half-crown to a genteel servant to be the bearer. My 
letter was safely conveyed to his grace, and the servant, after four 
hours absence, during which time I led the life of a fiend, returned 
with a letter four times as big as mine. Guess my extasy at the 
prospect of so fine a retiim. I eagerly took the packet into my 
hands, that trembled to receive it. I kept it some time unopened 
before me, brooding over the expected treasure it contained; when 
opening it, as I hope to be saved, gentlemen, his grace had sent me 
in payment for my poem, no bank-bills, but six copies of verses, 
each longer than mine, addressed to him upon the same occasion." 

"A nobleman," cries a member, who had hitherto been silent, 
"is created as much for the confusion of us authors, as the catch- 
pole. I'll tell you a story, gentlemen, which is as true as that this 

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pipe is made of clay: — When I was delivered of my first book, 
I owed my tailor for a suit of clothes; but that is nothing new, you 
know, and may be any man's case as well as mine. Well, owing 
him for a suit of clothes, and hearing that my book took very well, 
he sent for his money and insisted upon being paid immediately. 
Though I was at that time rich In fame — for my book ran like 
wild-fire — yet I was very short in money, and, being unable to 
satisfy his demand, prudently resolved to keep my chamber, pre- 
ferring a prison of my own choosing at home, to one of my tailor's 
choosing abroad. In vain the bailiffs used all their arts to decoy 
me from my citadel ; in vain they sent to let me know that a gentle- 
man wanted to speak with me at the next tavern ; in vain they came 
with an urgent message from my aunt in the cotmtry; in vain I was 
told that a particular friend was at the point of death, and desired 
to take his last farewell: — I was deaf, insensible, rock, adamant; 
the bailiffs could make no impression on my hard heart, for I effectu- 
ally kept my liberty by never stirring out of the room. 

"This was very well for a fortnight; when one morning I received 
a most splendid message from the Earl of Doomsday, importing, 
that he had read my book, and was in raptures with every line of it; 
he impatiently longed to see the author, and had some designs which 
might turn out greatly to my advantage. I paused upon the con- 
tents of this message, and found there could be no deceit, for the 
card was gilt at the edges, and the bearer, I was told, had quite the 
looks of a gentleman. Witness, ye powers, how my heart triumphed 
at my own importance ! I saw a long perspective of felicity before 
me ; I applauded the taste of the times which never saw genius for- 
saken: I had prepared a set introductory speech for the occasion; 
five glaring compliments for his lordship, and two more modest for 
myself. The next morning, therefore, in order to be punctual to 
my appointment, I took coach, and ordered the fellow to drive to 
the street and house mentioned in his lordship's address. I had the 
precaution to pull up the windows as I went along, to keep off the 
busy part of mankind, and, big with expectation, fancied the coach 
never went fast enough. At length, however, the wished for mo- 
ment of its stopping arrived: this for some time I impatiently ex- 
pected, and letting down the window in a transport, in order to take 
a previous view of his lordship's magnificent palace and situation, 
I found — poison to my sight ! — I found myself not in an elegant 
street, but a paltry lane: not at a nobleman's door, but the door of 

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a spunging-house : I found the coachman had all this while been 
just dri\Tiig me to jail; and I saw the bailiff, with a devil's face, 
coming out to secure me." 

To a philosopher, no circumstance, however trifling, is too minute; 
he finds instruction and entertainment in occurrences, which are 
passed over by the rest of mankind, as low, trite, and indifferent; 
it is from the number of these particulars, which to many appear in- 
significant, that he is at last enabled to form general conclusions; 
this, therefore, must be my excuse for sending so far as China, ac- 
counts of manners and follies, which, though minute in their own 
nature, serve more truly to characterize this people, than histories 
of their public treaties, courts, ministers, negotiations, and ambassa- 
dors. Adieu. 

LETTER XLI 

To the Same 

THE BEHAVIOUR OF THE CONGREGATION IN ST. PAUL'S CHURCH 
AT PRAYERS 

SOME time since I sent thee, O holy disciple of Confucius, an 
account of the grand abbey, or mausoleum, of the kings and 
heroes of this nation: I have since been introduced to a temple, not 
so ancient, but far superior in beauty and magnificence. In this, 
which is the most considerable of the empire, there are no pompous 
inscriptions, no flattery paid the dead, but all is elegant and awfully 
simple. There are, however, a few rags hung round the walls, 
which have, at a vast e.xpense, been taken from the enemy in the 
present war. The silk of which they are composed, when new, 
might be valued at half a string of copper money in China ; yet this 
wise people fitted out a fleet and an army in order to seize them, 
though now grown old, and scarcely capable of being patched up 
into a handkerchief. By this conquest, the English are said to 
have gained, and the French to have lost, much honour. Is the 
honour of European nations placed only in tattered silk ? 

In this temple I was permitted to remain during the whole ser- 
vice ; and were you not already acquainted with the religion of the 
English, you might, from my description, be inclined to believe 
them as grossly idolatrous as the disciples of Lao. The idol which 
they seem to address, strides like a colossus over the door of the 

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inner temple, which here, as with the Jews, is esteemed the most 
sacred part of the building. Its oracles are delivered in a hundred 
various tones, which seem to inspire the worshippers with enthusi- 
asm and awe: an old woman, who appeared to be the priestess, 
was employed in various attitudes, as she felt the inspiration. 
WTien it began to speak, all the people remained fixed in silent at- 
tention, nodding assent, looking approbation, appearing highly- 
edified by those sounds which to a stranger might seem inarticu- 
late and vmmeaning. 

WTien the idol had done speaking, and the priestess had locked 
up its limgs with a key, observing almost all the company lea\ing 
the temple, I concluded the service was over, and taking my hat, 
was going to walk away with the crowd, w^hen I was stopped by the 
man in black, who assured me that the ceremony had scarcely yet 
begun ! " What ! " cried I, " do I not see almost the whole body of 
the worshippers lea\ing the church ? Would you persuade me that 
such numbers who profess religion and morality, would, in this 
shameless manner, quit the temple before the service was concluded ? 
You surely mistake: not even the Kalmucks would be guilty of 
such an indecency, though all the object of their worship was but a 
joint-stool." My friend seemed to blush for his coimtrymen, as- 
suring me that those whom I saw running away, were only a parcel 
of musical blockheads, whose passion was merely for sounds, and 
whose heads are as empty as a fiddle-case: those who remained 
behind, says he, are the true religious; they make use of music to 
warm their hearts, and to lift them to a proper pitch of rapture: 
examine their beha\iour, and you will confess there are some among 
us who practise true devotion. 

I now looked round me as directed, but saw nothing of that 
fervent devotion which he had promised: one of the worshippers 
appeared to be ogUng the company through a glass; another was 
fervent, not in addresses to Heaven, but to his mistress; a third 
whispered, a fourth took snuff, and the priest himself, in a drowsy 
tone, read over the duties of the day. 

" Bless my eyes ! " cried I, as I happened to look towards the doors, 
"what do I see? one of the worshippers fallen fast asleep, and actu- 
ally simk down on his cushion! Is he now enjoying the benefit 
of a trance, or does he receive the influence of some mysterious \a- 
sion?" — "Alas! alas!" repUed my companion, "no such thing; he 
has only had the misfortune of eating too hearty a dinner, and finds 

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it impossible to keep his eyes open." Turning to another part of 
the temple, I perceived a young lady just in the same ciroimstances 
and attitude: "Strange," cried I; "can she, too, have over -eaten 
herself?" — " Oh, fie!" repUed my friend, "you now grow censori- 
ous. She grow drowsy from eating too much I that would be pro- 
fanation I She only sleeps now from ha\ing sat up all night at a brag 
part}-." — " Turn me where I v\-ill, then," says I, " I can perceive no 
single s}Tnptom of devotion among the worshippers, except from 
that old woman in the comer, who sits groaning behind the long 
sticks of a mourning fan; she indeed seems greatly edified with 
what she hears." — "Ay," rephed my friend, "I knew we should 
find some to catch you; I know her; that is the deaf lady who lives 
in the cloisters." 

In short, the remissness of belia\-iour in almost all the worshippers, 
and some even of the guardians, struck me with surprise. I had 
been taught to believe that none were ever promoted to offices in 
the temple, but men remarkable for their superior sanctit}-. learning, 
and rectitude; that there was no such thing heard of, as persons 
being introduced into the church merely to obUge a senator, or pro- 
^•ide for the younger branch of a noble family: I expected, as their 
minds were continually set upon heavenl}- things, to see their eyes 
directed there also; and hoped, from their beha%"iour, to perceive 
their inclinations corresponding with their dut}-. But I am since 
informed, that some are appointed to preside over temples they 
never \-isit; and. while they receive all the money, are contented 
with letting others do all the goood. Adieu. 

LETTER XLV 

To the Same 

THE ARDOUR OF THE PEOPLE OF LONDON ES' RUXXES-G .\FTER SIGHTS 
.AND MONSTERS 

THOUGH the frequent inntations I receive from men of dis- 
tinction here might excite the vanit}- of some. I am quite mor- 
tified, however, when I consider the motives that inspire their d\-ilitA-. 
I am sent for not to be treated as a friend, but to satisfy curiosit}'; 
not to be entertained so much as wondered at, the same earnestness 
which excites them to see a Chinese, would have made them equally 
proud of a \isit from the rhinoceros. 

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CITIZEN OF THE WORLD 

From the highest to the lowest, this people seem fond of sights 
and monsters. I am told of a person here who gets a very comfort- 
able liveUhood by making wonders, and then selling or shoAving 
them to the people for money: no matter how insignificant they 
were in the beginning, by locking them up close, and showing for 
money, they soon become prodigies! His first essay in this way was 
to exhibit himself as a wax- work figure behind a glass door at a pup- 
pet show. Thus, keeping the spectators at a proper distance, and 
having his head adorned with a copper cro%\Ti, he looked " extremely 
natural, and very Uke the hfe itself." He continued this exhibition 
with success, till an in\oluntary fit of sneezing brought him to life 
before all the spectators, and consequently rendered him for that 
time as entirely useless as the peaceable inhabitant of a catacomb. 

Determined to act the statue no more, he next levied contribu- 
tions imder the figure of an Indian king; and by painting his face, 
and counterfeiting the savage howl, he frighted several ladies and 
children with amazing success: in this manner, therefore, he might 
have lived very comfortably, had he not been arrested for a debt 
that was contracted when he was the figure in wax-work: thus his 
face imderwent an involuntary ablution, and he found himself 
reduced to his primitive complexion and indigence. 

After some time, being freed from jail, he was now grown wiser, 
and instead of making himself a wonder, was resolved only to make 
wonders. He learned the art of pasting up mummies; was never 
at a loss for an artificial liisus naturce; nay, it has been reported, 
that he has sold seven petrified lobsters of his own manufacture 
to a noted collector of rarities ; but this the learned Cracovius Putri- 
dus has imdertaken to refute in a very elaborate dissertation. 

His last wonder was nothing more than a halter, yet by this halter 
he gained more than by all his former exhibitions. The people, 
it seems, had got it in their heads, that a certain noble criminal was 
to be hanged with a silken rope. Now, there was nothing they so 
much desired to see as this very rope ; and he was resolved to gratify 
their curiosity: he therefore got one made, not only of silk, but, 
to render it more striking, several threads of gold were intermixed. 
The people paid their money only to see silk, but were highly satis- 
fied when they found it was mixed with gold into the bargain. It 
is scarcely necessary to mention, that the projector sold his silken 
rope for almost what it had cost him, as soon as the criminal was 
known to be hanged in hempen materials. 

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CITIZEN OF THE WORLD 

By their fondness of sights, one would be apt to imagine that 
instead of desiring to see things as they should be, they are rather 
solicitous of seeing them as they ought not to be. A cat with four 
legs is disregarded, though never so useful; but if it has but two, 
and is consequently incapable of catching mice, it is reckoned 
inestimable, and every man of taste is ready to raise the auction. 
A man, though in his person faultless as an aerial genius, might 
starve; but if stuck over with hideous warts like a porcupine, his 
fortune is made for ever, and he may propagate the breed with 
impunity and applause. 

A good woman in my neighbourhood, who was bred a habit- 
maker, though she handled her needle tolerably well, could scarcely 
get employment. But being obliged by an accident to have both 
her hands cut off from the elbows, what would in another country 
have been her ruin, made her fortune here: she now was thought 
more fit for her trade than before ; business flowed in apace, and all 
people paid for seeing the mantua-maker who wrought without 
hands. 

A gentleman, showing me his collection of pictures, stopped at 
one with peculiar admiration: "There," cries he, "is an inestimable 
piece." I gazed at the picture for some time, but could see none 
of those graces with which he seemed enraptured; it appeared to 
me the most paltry piece of the whole collection: I therefore de- 
manded where those beauties lay, of which I was yet insensible. 
"Sir,'- cries he, "the merit does not consist in the piece, but in the 
manner in which it was done. The painter drew the whole with 
his foot, and held the pencil between his toes- I bought it at a very 
great price; for peculiar merit should ever be rewarded." 

But these people are not more fond of wonders, than Uberal in 
rewarding those who show them. From the wonderful dog of 
knowledge, at present under the patronage of the nobility, dovm 
to the man with the box, who professes to show "the best imita- 
tion of Nature that was ever seen," they all live in luxury. A sing- 
ing woman shall collect subscriptions in her own coach and six; 
a feUow shall make a fortune by tossing a straw from his toe to 
his nose; one in particular has found that eating fire was the most 
ready way to live; and another, who jingles several bells fixed to 
his cap, is the only man that I know of who has received emolu- 
ment from the labours of his head. 

A young author, a man of good-nature and learning, was com- 

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CITIZEN OF THE WORLD 

plaining to me some nights ago of this misplaced generosity of the 
times. " Here," says he, " have I spent part of my youth in attempt- 
ing to instruct and amuse my fellow-creatures, and all my reward 
has been solitude, and reproach; while a fellow, possessed of even 
poverty, the smallest share of fiddling merit, or who has perhaps 
learned to whistle double, is rewarded, applauded, and caressed!" 
— "Prithee, young man," says I to him, "are you ignorant, that 
in so large a city as this, it is better to be an amusing than a useful 
member of society? Can you leap up, and touch your feet four 
times before you come to the ground?" — "No, sir." — "Can 
you pimp for a man of quality ? " — " No, sir." — " Can you stand 
upon two horses at full speed ? " — " No, sir." — " Can you swallow 
a penknife?" — "I can do none of these tricks." — " Why then," 
cried I, "there is no other prudent means of subsistence left, but 
to apprize the town that you speedily intend to eat up your own 
nose, by subscription." 

I have frequently regretted that none of our Eastern posture- 
masters, or showmen, have ever ventured to England. I should 
be pleased to see that money circulate in Asia, which is now sent to 
Italy and France, in order to bring their vagabonds hither. Several 
of our tricks would undoubtedly give the English high satisfaction. 
Men of fashion would be greatly pleased with the postures as well 
as the condescension of our dancing girls; and the ladies would 
equally admire the conductors of our fireworks. What an agreeable 
surprise would it be to see a huge fellow with whiskers flash a 
charged blunderbuss fuU in a lady's face, without singeing her hair, 
or melting her pomatum. Perhaps, when the first surprise was 
over, she might then grow familiar with danger; and the ladies 
might vie with each other in standing fire with intrepidity. 

But of all the wonders of the East, the most useful, and I should 
fancy the most pleasing, would be the looking-glass of Lao, which 
reflects the mind as well as the body. It is said, that the Emperor 
Chusi used to make his concubines dress their heads and their 
hearts in one of these glasses every morning: while the lady was at 
her toilet, he would frequently look over her shoulder; and it is 
recorded, that among the three hundred which composed his 
seraglio, not one was found whose mind was not even more beauti- 
ful than her person. 

I make no doubt but a glass in this country would have the very 
same effect. The English ladies, concubines and all, would 

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CITIZEN OF THE WORLD 

undoubtedly cut very pretty figures in so faithful a monitor. There, 
should we happen to peep over a lady's shoulder v^^hile dressing, 
we might be able to see neither gaming nor ill-nature; neither pride, 
debauchery, nor a love of gadding. We should find her, if any 
sensible defect appeared in the mind, more careful in rectifying it, 
than plastering up the irreparable decays of the person ; nay, I am 
even apt to fancy, that ladies would find more real pleasure in this 
utensil in private, than in any other bauble imported from China, 
though never so expensive or amusing. 



LETTER XLVI 

To the Same 
[the looking-glass of lao], a dream 

UPON finishing my last letter, I retired to rest, reflecting upon 
the wonders of the glass of Lao, wishing to be possessed of 
one here, and resolved, in such a case, to oblige every lady with a 
sight of it for nothing. What fortune denied me waking, fancy 
supplied in a dream: the glass, I know not how, was put into my 
possession, and I could perceive several ladies approaching, some 
voluntarily, others driven fonvard against their wills, by a set of 
discontented genii, whom, by intuition, I knew were their husbands. 

The apartment in which I was to show away, was filled with 
several gaming-tables, as if just forsaken; the candles were burnt to 
the socket, and the hour was five o'clock in the morning. Placed at 
one end of the room, which was of prodigious length, I could more 
easily distinguish every female figure as she marched up from the 
door; but, guess my surprise, when I could scarce perceive one 
blooming or agreeable face among the number. This, however, I 
attributed to the early hour, and kindly considered that the face of 
a lady just risen from bed, ought always to find a compassionate 
advocate. 

The first person who came up in order to view her intellectual 
face, was a commoner's wife, who, as I aftervi'ards found, being 
bred up during her virginity in a pawn-broker's shop, now attempted 
to make up the defects of breeding and sentiment by the magnifi- 
cence of her dress, and the expensiveness of her amusements. " Mr. 
Showman," cried she, approaching, "I am told you has something 

439 



CITIZEx\ OF THE WORLD 

t(j show in that there sort of magic lantern, by which folks can see 
themselves on the inside: I protest, as my Lord Beetle says, I am 
sure it will be vastly pretty, for I have never seen an)1;hing like it 
before. But how, — Are we to strip ofif our clothes, and be turned 
inside out? if so, as Lord Beetle says, I absolutely declare off; for 
I would not strip for the world before a man's face, and so I teUs 
his Lordship almost every night of my life." I informed the 
lady that I would dispense with the ceremony of stripping, and 
immediately presented my glass to her \1ew. 

As when a first-rate beauty, after having with difficulty escaped 
the small-pox, re\asits her favourite mirror — that mirror which 
had repeated the flattery of every lover, and even added force to 
the compliment — expecting to see what had so often given her 
pleasure, she no longer beholds the cherry lip, the polished forehead, 
and speaking blush, but a hateful phiz, quilted into a thousand 
seams by the hand of deformity ; grief, resentment, and rage fill her 
bosom by turns — she blames the fates and stars, but, most of all, 
the imhappy glass feels her resentment: So it was with the lady 
in question ; she had never seen her own mind before, and was now 
shocked at its deformity. One single look was sufficient to satisfy 
her curiosity: I held up the glass to her face, and she shut her eyes; 
no entreaties could prevail upon her to gaze once more ! She was 
even going to snatch it from my hands, and break it in a thousand 
pieces. I foimd it was time, therefore, to dismiss her as incorrigible, 
and show away to the next that offered. 

This was an immarried lady, who continued in a state of \irginity 
till thirty-six, and then admitted a lover when she despaired of a 
husband. No woman was louder at a revel than she, perfectly free 
hearted, and almost, in every respect a man ; she imderstood ridicule 
to perfection, and was once known even to sally out in order to 
beat the watch. "Here, you, my dear, with the outlandish face," 
said she, addressing me, "let me take a smgle peep. Not that I 
care three damns what figure I may cut in the glass of such an old- 
fashioned creature: if I am allowed the beauties of the face by 
people of fashion, I know the world will be complaisant enough to 
toss me the beauties of the mind into the bargain." I held my glass 
before her as she desired, and, must confess, was shocked with the 
reflection. The lady, however, gazed for some time with the utmost 
complacency; and, at last, turning to me with the most satisfied 
smile, said, she never could think she had been half so handsome. 
440 



CITIZEN OF THE WORLD 

Upon her dismission, a lady of distinction was reluctantly hauled 
along to the glass by her husband. In bringing her forward, as he 
came first to the glass himself, his mind appeared tinctxired with 
immoderate jealousy, and I was going to reproach him for using 
her with such severity; but when the lady came to present herself, 
I immediately retracted: for, alas! it was seen that he had but too 
much reason for his suspicions. 

The next was a lady who usually teased all her acquaintance, 
desiring to be told of her faults, and then never mended any. 
Upon approaching the glass, I could readily perceive vanity, aflfecta- 
tion, and some other ill-looking blots on her mind; wherefore, b}- 
my advice, she immediately set about mending. But I could 
easily find she was not earnest in the work; for as she repaired 
them on one side, they generally broke out on another. Thus, 
after three or four attempts, she began to make the ordinary use of 
the glass in settling her hair. 

The company now made room for a woman of learning, who 
approached with a slow pace and a solemn countenance, which, 
for her o\mi sake, I could wish had been cleaner. "Sir," cried the 
lady, flourishing her hand, which held a pinch of snuff, "I shall be 
enraptured by having presented to my view a mmd, with which I 
have so long studied to be acquainted ; but, in order to give the sex 
a proper example, I must insist, that all the company may be per- 
mitted to look over my shoulder." I bowed assent, and, present- 
ing the glass, showed the lady a mind by no means so fair as she 
had expected to see. Ill-nature, ill-placed pride, and spleen, were 
too legible to be mistaken. Nothing could be more amusing than 
the mirth of her female companions who had looked over. They 
had hated her from the beginning, and now the apartment echoed 
with a universal laugh. Nothing but a fortitude like hers could 
have withstood their raillery: she stood it, however; and, when the 
burst was exhausted, with great tranquillity she assured the com- 
pany, that the whole was a deceptio visas, and that she was too well 
acquainted with her own mind to believe any false representations 
from another. Thus saying, she retired with a sullen satisfaction, 
resolved not to mend her faults, but to write a criticism on the 
mental reflector. 

I must own, by this time, I began myself to suspect the fidelity 
of my mirror; for, as the ladies appeared at least to have the merit 
of rising early, since they were up at five, I was amazed to find 
441 



CITIZEN OF THE WORLD 

nothing of this good quality pictured upon their minds in the reflec- 
tion: I was resolved, therefore, to communicate my suspicions to a 
lady whose intellectual coimtenance appeared more fair than any 
of the rest not ha^^ng above seventy-nine spots in all, besides slips 
and foibles. "I own, yotmg woman," said I, "that there are some 
virtues upon that mind of yours; but there is still one which I do 
not see represented, I mean that of rising betimes in the morning 
— I fancy the glass false in that particular." The yoimg lady 
smiled at my simplicity; and, with a blush, confessed, that she and 
the whole company had been up all night gaming. 

By this time all the ladies, except one, had seen themselves suc- 
cessively, and disliked the show, or scolded the showman: I was 
resolved, however, that she who seemed to neglect herself, and was 
neglected by the rest, should take a view; and, going up to a comer 
of the room where she still continued sitting, I presented my glass 
full in her face. Here it was that I exulted in my success; no blot, 
no stain appeared on any part of the faithful mirror. As when the 
large imwritten page presents its snowy spotless bosom to the 
writer's hand, so appeared the glass to my view. "Here, O ye 
daughters of English ancestors!" cried I, "turn hither, and 
behold an object worthy imitation! Look upon the mirror now, 
and acknowledge its justice, and this woman's pre-eminence!" 
The ladies, obe}ing the summons, came up in a group, and looking 
on, acknowledged there was some truth in the picture, as the person 
now represented had been deaf, dumb, and a fool from her cradle ! 

Thus much of my dream I distinctly remember; the rest was 
filled with chimeras, enchanted castles, and flying dragons as 
usual. As you, my dear Fum Hoam, are particularly versed in the 
interpretation of those midnight warnings, what pleasure should I 
find in your explanation ! But that ovu- distance prevents : I make 
no doubt, however, but that, from my description, you will very 
much venerate the good qualities of the English ladies in general, 
since dreams, you know, go always by contraries. Adieu. 



442 



CITIZEN OF THE WORLD 

LETTER LI 

To the Same 

A bookseller's visit to the CHINESE PHILOSOPHER 

AS I was yesterday seated at breakfast over a pensive dish of 
tea, my meditations were interrupted by my old friend and 
companion, who introduced a stranger, dressed pretty much like 
himself. The gentleman made several apologies for his visit, 
begged of me to impute his intrusion to the sincerity of his respect, 
and the warmth of his curiosity. 

As I am very suspicious of my company when I find them very 
civil without any apparent reason, I answered the stranger's caresses 
at first with reserve; which my friend perceiving, instantly let me 
into my visitant's trade and character, asking Mr. Fudge, whether 
he had lately published any thing new? I now conjectured that 
my guest was no other than a bookseller, and his answer confirmed 
my suspicions. 

"Excuse me. Sir," says he, "it is not the season; books have 
their time as well as cucumbers. I would no more bring out a new 
work in summer, than I would sell pork in the dog days. Nothing 
in my way goes off in summer, except very light goods indeed. 
A review, a magazine, or a Sessions paper, may amuse a summer 
reader; but all our stock of value we reserve for a spring and winter 
trade." "I must confess. Sir," says I, "a curiosity to know what 
you call a valuable stock, which can only bear a winter perusal." 
" Sir," replied the bookseller, " it is not my way to cry up my own 
goods; but, without exaggeration, I will venture to show with any 
of the trade: my books at least have the peculiar advantage of 
being always new; and it is my way to clear off my old to the trunk- 
makers every season. I have ten new title-pages now about me, 
which only want books to be added to make them the finest things 
in nature. Others may pretend to direct the vulgar; but that is 
not my way; I always let the vulgar direct me; wherever popular 
clamour arises, I always echo the million. For instance, should 
the people in general say, that such a man is a rogue, I instantly 
give orders to set him down in print a villain; thus every man buys 
the book, not to learn new sentiments, but to have the pleasure 
of seeing his own reflected." — "But, Sir," interrupted I, "you 

443 



CITIZEN OF THE WORLD 

speak as if you yourself wrote the books you publish; may I be so 
bold as to ask a sight of some of those intended publications which 
are shortly to surprise the world?" — "As to that, Sir," replied 
the talkative bookseller, "I only draw out the plans myself; and 
though I am very cautious of communicating them to any, yet, 
as in the end I have a favour to ask, you shall see a few of them. 
Here, Sir, here they are; diamonds of the first water, I assure you. 
Imprimis, a Translation of several Medical precepts for the use of 
such physicians as do not understand Latin. Item, the Young 
Clergyman's art of placing patches regularly, with a Dissertation 
on the different manners of smiling without distorting the face. 
Item, the whole Art of Love made perfectly easy, by a broker of 
'Change Alley. Item, the proper manner of Cutting blacklead 
pencils, and making crayons, by the Right Hon. the Earl of * * *. 
Item, the Muster-master-general, or the review of reviews." — 
"Sir," cried I, interrupting him, "my curiosity, with regard to 
title-pages, is satisfied; I should be glad to see some longer manu- 
script, a history, or an epic poem." — "Bless me!" cries the man 
of industry, "now you speak of an epic poem, you shall see an 
excellent farce. Here it is; dip into it where you will, it will be 
found replete with true modem humour. Strokes, Sir; it is filled 
with strokes of wit and satire in every line." — " Do you call these 
dashes of the pen strokes," replied I, "for I must confess I can 
see no other?" — "And pray. Sir," returned he, "what do you 
call them? Do you see any thing good now -a -days, that is not 
filled with strokes — and dashes ? — Sir, a well placed dash makes 
half the wit of our writers of modern humour. I bought a piece 
last season that had no other merit upon earth than nine hundred 
and ninety-five breaks, seventy-two ha-ha's, three good things, 
and a garter. And yet it played off, and bounced, and cracked, 
and made more sport than a firework." — "I fancy, then, Sir, you 
were a considerable gainer?" — "It must be owned the piece did 
pay; but, upon the whole, I cannot much boast of last winter's suc- 
cess; I gained by two murders; but then I lost by an ill-timed 
charity sermon. I was a considerable sufferer by my Direct Road 
to an Estate, but the Infernal Guide brought me up again. Ah, 
Sir, that was a piece touched off by the hand of a master; filled with 
good things from one end to the other. The author had nothing 
but the jest in view ; no dull moral lurking beneath, nor ill-natured 
satire to sour the reader's good -humour; he wisely considered, that 

444 



CITIZEN OF THE WORLD 

moral and humour at the same time were quite overdoing the 
business." — "To what purpose was the book then published?" 
cried I. — " Sir, the book was published in order to be sold ; and no 
book sold better, except the criticisms upon it, which came out soon 
after: of all kinds of writing, that goes off best at present; and I 
generally fasten a criticism upon every selling book that is pub- 
lished. 

" I once had an author who never left the least opening for the 
critics: close was the word; always very right and very dull; ever on 
the safe side of an argument; yet, with all his quahfications, incapa- 
ble of coming into favour. I soon perceived that his bent was for 
criticism; and, as he was good for nothing else, suppUed him with 
pens and paper, and planted him, at the beginning of every month, 
as a censor on the works of others. In short, I found him a trea- 
sure ; no merit could escape him ; but what is most remarkable of all, 
he ever wTote best and bitterest when drunk." "But are there 
not some works," interrupted I, "that, from the very manner of 
their composition, must be exempt from criticism; particularly 
such as profess to disregard its laws?" — "There is no work 
whatsoever but he can criticise," repUed the bookseller; "even 
though you wTote in Chinese, he would have a pluck at you. Sup- 
pose you should take it into your head to pubhsh a book, let it be a 
volume of Chinese letters, for instance; write how you will, he shall 
show the world you could have written better. Should you, with 
the most local exactness, stick to the manners and customs of the 
country from whence you come; should you confine yourself to 
the narrow hmits of Eastern knowledge, and be perfectly simple, 
and perfectly natural, he has then the strongest reason to exclaim. 
He may, with a sneer, send you back to China for readers. He 
may observe, that after the first or second letter, the iteration of the 
same simplicity is insupportably tedious. But the worst of all is, 
the pubUc, in such a case, will anticipate his censures, and leave you, 
with all your uninstructive simplicity, to be mauled at discretion." 

"Yes," cried I, "but in order to avoid his indignation, and, what 
I should fear more, that of the public, I would, in such a case, 
write with all the knowledge I was master of. As I am not possessed 
of much learning, at least I would not suppress what Uttle I had; 
nor would I appear more stupid than nature made me." — " Here, 
then," cries the bookseller, "we should have you entirely in our 
power; unnatural, un-Eastern, quite out of character, erroneously 

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CITIZEN OF THE WORLD 

sensible, would be the whole cry. Sir, we should then hvmt you 
dc'5\'n like a rat." — "Head of my father!'.' said I, "sure there are 
but tw'O ways; the door must either be shut or it must be open. I 
must either be natural or unnatural." — "Be what you wiU, we 
shall criticise you," returned the bookseller, "and prove you a 
dunce in spite of your teeth. But, Sir, it is time that I should come 
to business. I have just now in the press a history of China; and 
if you will but put your name to it as the author, I shall repay the 
obHgation with gratitude." — "WTiat, Sir!" repUed I, "put my 
name to a work which I have not written ? Never, while I retain 
a proper respect for the public and myself." The bluntness of 
my reply quite abated the ardour of the bookseller's conversation; 
and, after about half an hour's disagreeable reserve, he, with some 
ceremony, took his leave, and \\-ithdrew. Adieu. 



LETTER LII 

To the Same 

THE IMPOSSIBILITY OF DISTINGUISHING MEN IN ENGLAND BY THEIR 
DRESS. TWO INSTANCES OF THIS 

IN all Other countries, my dear Fum Hoam, the rich are distin- 
guished by their dress. In Persia, China, and most parts of 
Europe, those who are possessed of much gold or silver, put some 
of it upon their clothes; but in England, those who carry much upon 
their clothes, are remarked for ha\dng but Uttle in their pockets. A 
tawdry outside is regarded as a badge of poverty; and those who 
can sit at home, and gloat over their thousands in silent satisfaction, 
are generally found to do it in plain clothes. 

This diversity of thinking from the rest of the world which pre- 
vails here, I was, at first, at a loss to account for; but am since in- 
formed, that it was introduced by an intercourse between them and 
their neighbours the French, who, whenever they came in order to 
pay these islanders a visit, were generally very well dressed, and very 
poor, daubed with lace, but all the gilding on the outside. By 
this means laced clothes have been brought so much into contempt, 
that, at present, even their mandarines are ashamed of finery. 

I must own myself a convert to English simplicity ; I am no more 
for ostentation of wealth than of learning: the person who in com- 
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CITIZEN OF THE WORLD 

pany should pretend to be wiser than others, I am apt to regard 
as illiterate and ill-bred; the person whose clothes are extremely 
fine, I am too apt to consider as not being possessed of any superior- 
ity of fortune, but resembling those Indians who are found to wear 
all the gold they have in the world in a bob at the nose. 

I was lately introduced into a company of the best dressed men 
I have seen since my arrival. Upon entering the room, I was 
struck with awe at the grandeur of the different dresses. That 
personage, thought I, in blue and gold must be some emperor's 
son ; that in green and silver, a prince of the blood; he in embroidered 
scarlet, a prime minister; all first rate noblemen, I suppose, and 
weU-looking noblemen too. I sat for some time with that uneasi- 
ness which conscious inferiority produces in the ingenuous mind, 
all attention to their discourse. However, I found their conversa- 
tion more \ailgar than I could have expected from personages of 
such distinction: If these, thought I to myself, be princes, they are 
the most stupid princes I have ever conversed with: yet still I con- 
tinued to venerate their dress; for dress has a kind of mechanical 
influence on the mind. 

My friend in black, indeed, did not behave with the same defer- 
ence, but contradicted the fimest of them aU in the most peremptory 
tones of contempt. But I had scarce time to wonder at the impru- 
dence of his conduct, when I found occasion to be equally surprised 
at the absurdity of theirs; for upon the entrance of a middle-aged 
man, dressed in a cap, dirty shirt, and boots, the whole circle seemed 
diminished of their former importance, and contended who should 
be first to pay their obeisance to the stranger. They somewhat 
resembled a circle of Kalmucs offering incense to a bear. 

Eager to know the cause of so much seeming contradiction, I 
whispered my friend out of the room, and found that the august 
company consisted of no other than a dancing master, t\vo fiddlers, 
and a third-rate actor, all assembled in order to make a set at 
country dances; as the middle-aged gentleman whom I saw enter, 
was a 'squire from the country, desirous of learning the new manner 
of footing, and smoothing up the rudiments of his rural minuet. 

I was no longer surprised at the authority which my friend as- 
sumed among them — nay, was even displeased (pardon my 
Eastern education) that he had not kicked every creature of them 
down stairs. "What," said I, "shall a set of such paltry fellows 
dress themselves up like sons of kings, and claim even the transi- 

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tory respect of half an hour ! There should be some law to restrain 
so manifest a breach of privilege; they should go from house to 
house as in China, with the instruments of their profession strung 
round their necks; by this means, we might be able to distinguish 
and treat them in a style of becoming contempt." — "Hold, my 
friend," replied my companion, "were your reformation to take 
place, as dancing masters and fiddlers now mimic gentlemen in 
appearance, we should then find our fine gentlemen conforming 
to theirs. A beau might be introduced to a lady of fashion with 
a fiddle-case hanging at his neck by a red riband; and, instead of a 
cane, might carry a fiddlestick. Though to be as dull as a first- 
rate dancing master might be used with proverbial justice; yet, dull 
as he is, many a fine gentleman sets him up as the proper standard 
of politeness; copies not only the pert vivacity of his air, but the 
fiat insipidity of his conversation. In short, if you make a law 
against dancing masters imitating the fine gentleman, you should 
with as much reason enact, that no fine gentleman shall imitate 
the dancing master." 

After I had left my friend, I made towards home, reflecting as 
I went upon the difficulty of distinguishing men by their appearance. 
Invited, how^ever, by the freshness of the evening, I did not return 
directly, but went to ruminate on what had passed in a public 
garden belonging to the city. Here, as I sat upon one of the 
benches, and felt the pleasing sympathy which nature in bloom 
inspires, a disconsolate figiure who sat on the other end of the seat, 
seemed no way to enjoy the serenity of the season. 

His dress was miserable beyond description; a thread-bare coat, 
of the rudest materials; a shirt, though clean, yet extremely coarse; 
hair that seemed to have been long unconscious of the comb; and 
all the rest of his equipage impressed with the marks of genuine 
poverty. 

As he continued to sigh, and testify every symptom of despair, 
I was naturally led, from a motive of humanity, to offer comfort 
and assistance. You know my heart ; and that all who are miserable 
may claim a place there. The pensive stranger at first declined any 
conversation ; but at last perceiving a peculiarity in ray accent and 
manner of thinking, he began to unfold himself by degrees. 

I now found that he was not so very miserable as he at first ap- 
peared; upon my offering him a small piece of money, he refused 
my favour, yet without appearing displeased at my intended gen- 
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erosity. It is true, he sometimes interrupted the conversation with 
a sigh, and talked pathetically of neglected merit; yet still I could 
perceive a serenity in his countenance, that, upon a closer inspec- 
tion, bespoke inward content. 

Upon a pause in the conversation, I was going to take my leave, 
when he begged I would favour him with my company home to 
supper. I was surprised at such a demand from a person of his 
appearance, but, willing to indulge curiosity, I accepted his invita- 
tion ; and, though I felt some repugnance at being seen with one who 
appeared so very wretched, went along with seeming alacrity. 

Still as he approached nearer home, his good humour propor- 
tionably seemed to increase. At last he stopped, not at the gate 
of a hovel, but of a magnificent palace ! When I cast my eyes upon 
all the sumptuous elegance which every where presented upon enter- 
ing, and then when I looked at my seeming miserable conductor, 
I could scarce think that all this finery belonged to him ; yet in fact 
it did. Numerous servants ran through the apartments with silent 
assiduity; several ladies of beauty, and magnificently dressed, came 
to welcome his return; a most elegant supper was provided: in 
short, I found the person whom a little before I had sincerely pitied, 
to be in reality a most refined epicure : — one who courted contempt 
abroad, in order to feel with keener gust the pleasure of pre-emi- 
nence at home. Adieu. 

LETTER LIII 

To the Same 

THE ABSURD TASTE FOR CERTAIN FORMS OF LITERATURE 

HOW often have we admired the eloquence of Europe! that 
strength of thinking, that delicacy of imagination, even be- 
yond the efforts of the Chinese themselves. How were we enrap- 
tured with those bold figures which sent every sentiment with force 
to the heart. How have we spent whole days together, in learning 
those arts by which European writers got within the passions, and 
led the reader as if by enchantment. 

But though we have learned most of the rhetorical figiures of the 
last age, yet there seems to be one or two of great use here, which 
have not yet travelled to China. The figures I mean are called 
Bawdy and Perlness: none are more fashionable — none so sure 

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of admirers; they are of such a nature, that the merest blockhead, 
by a proper use of them, shall have the reputation of a wit ; they lie 
level to the meanest capacities, and address those passions v^^hich 
all have, or would be ashamed to disown. 

It has been observed, and I believe with some truth, that it is 
very difficult for a dunce to obtain the reputation of a wit; yet, 
by the assistance of the figure Bawdy, this may be easily effected, 
and a bawdy blockhead often passes for a fellow of smart parts and 
pretensions. Every object in nature helps the jokes forward, 
without scarce any effort of the imagination. If a lady stands, 
something very good may be said upon that; if she happens to fall, 
with the help of a little fashionable pruriency, there are forty sly 
things ready on the occasion. But a prurient jest has always been 
found to give most pleasure to a few very old gentlemen, who, being 
in some measure dead to other sensations, feel the force of the allu- 
sion with double violence on the organs of risibility. 

An author who writes in this manner is generally sure, therefore, 
of having the very old and the impotent among his admirers; for 
these he may properly be said to write, and from these he ought to 
expect his reward; his works being often a very proper succedaneum 
to cantharides, or an asafoetida pill. His pen should be considered 
in the same b'ght as the squirt of an apothecary, both being directed 
at the same generous end. 

But though this manner of writing be perfectly adapted to the 
taste of gentlemen and ladies of fashion here, yet still it deserves 
greater praise in being equally suited to the most vulgar apprehen- 
sions. The very ladies and gentlemen of Benin or Cafraria are in 
this respect tolerably polite, and might relish a prurient joke of this 
kind with critical propriety; probably, too, with higher gust, as 
they wear neither breeches nor petticoats to intercept the applica- 
tion. 

It is certain I never could have expected the ladies here, biassed 
as they are by education, capable at once of bravely throwing off 
their prejudices, and not only applauding books in which this figure 
makes the only merit, but even adopting it in their own conversation. 
Yet so it is ; the pretty innocents now carry those books openly in 
their hands, which formerly were hid under the cushion; they now 
lisp their double meanings with so much grace, and talk over the 
raptures they bestow with such Uttle reserve, that I am sometimes 
reminded of a custom among the entertainers in China, who think 

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it a piece of necessary breeding to whet the appetites of their guests, 
by letting them smell dinner in the kitchen, before it is served up to 
table. 

The veneration we have for many things, entirely proceeds from 
their being carefully concealed. Were the idolatrous Tartar per- 
mitted to lift the veil which keeps his idol from view, it might be a 
certain method to cure his future superstition; with what a noble 
spirit of freedom, therefore, must that writer be possessed, who 
bravely paints things as they are — who lifts the veil of modesty — 
who displays the most hidden recesses of the temple, and shows the 
erring people that the object of their vows is either, perhaps a mouse 
or a monkey ! 

However, though this figure be at present so much in fashion — 
though the professors of it are so much caressed by the great, those 
perfect judges of literary excellence, — yet it is confessed to be only 
a revival of what was once fashionable here before. There was a 
time, when, by this very manner of writing, the gentle Tom Durfey, 
as I read in English authors, acquired his great reputation, and be- 
came the favourite of a king. 

The works of this original genius, though they never travelled 
abroad to China, and scarce have reached posterity at home, were 
once found upon every fashionable toilet, and made the subject of 
polite, I mean very poHte conversation. "Has your grace seen 
Mr. Durfey's last new thing, the Oylet Hole? — a most facetious 
piece !" — " Sure, my lord, all the world must have seen it; Durfey 
is certainly the most comical creature alive. It is impossible to 
read his things and live. Was there ever anything so natural and 
pretty, as when the 'Squire and Bridget meet in the cellar? And 
then the difficulties they both find in broaching the beer barrel, are 
so arch and so ingenious ! We have certainly nothing of this kind 
in the language." In this manner they spoke then, and in this man- 
ner they speak now; for though the successor of Durfey does not 
excel him in wit, the world must confess he outdoes him in obscenity. 

There are several very dull fellows, who, by a few mechanical 
helps, sometimes learn to become extremely brilliant and pleasing, 
with a little dexterity in the management of the eyebrows, fingers, 
and nose. By imitating a cat, a sow and pigs, — by a loud laugh, 
and a slap on the shoulder, — the most ignorant are furnished out 
for conversation. But the writer finds it impossible to throw his 
winks, his shrugs, or his attitudes upon paper; he may borrow 

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some assistance, indeed, by printing his face at the title page; but, 
without wit, to pass for a man of ingenuity, no other mechanical 
help but downright obscenity will suthce. By speaking of some 
pecuHar sensations, we are always sure of exciting laughter, for the 
jest does not lie in the writer, but in the subject. 

But Bawdy is often helped on by another figure, called Pertness; 
and few indeed are found to excel in one that are not possessed of 
the other. As in common conversation, the best way to make the 
audience laugh is by first laughing yourself; so in writing, the 
properest manner is to show an attempt at humour, which will pass 
upon most for humoiu" in reaUty. To effect this, readers must be 
treated with the most perfect famiUarity: in one page the author is 
to make them a low bow, and in the next to pull them by the nose; 
he must talk in riddles, and then send them to bed in order to dream 
for the solution. He must speak of himself, and his chapters, and 
his manner, and what he would be at, and his own importance, and 
his mother's importance, with the most unpitying prolixity; now 
and then testifying his contempt for all but himself, smiling without 
a jest, and without wit professing vivacity. Adieu. 



LETTER LIV 

To the Same 

THE CHARACTER OF AN IMPORTANT TRIFLER, [BEAU TIBBS] 

THOUGH natmrally pensive, yet I am fond of gay company, 
and take every opportunity of thus dismissing the mind from 
duty. From this motive, I am often found in the centre of a crowd ; 
and wherever pleasure is to be sold, am always a purchaser. In 
those places, without being remarked by any, I join in whatever 
goes forward; work my passions into a simiUtude of frivolous 
earnestness, shout as they shout, and condemn as they happen to 
disapprove. A mind thus sunk for a while below its natural stand- 
ard, is quahfied for stronger flights, as those first retire who would 
spring forward with greater vigour. 

Attracted by the serenity of the evening, my friend and I lately 
went to gaze upon the company in one of the public walks near the 
city. Here we sauntered together for some time, either praising 
the beauty of such as were handsome, or the dresses of such as had 

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nothing else to recommend them. We had gone thus deUberately 
forward for some time, when, stopping on a sudden, my friend caught 
me by the elbow, and led me out of the pubhc walk. I could 
perceive by the quickness of his pace, and by his frequently looking 
behind, that he was attempting to avoid somebody who followed: 
we now turned to the right, then to the left: as we went forward, 
he still went faster, but in vain : the person whom he attempted to 
escape hunted us through every doubling, and gained upon us each 
moment, so that at last we fairly stood still, resolving to face what 
we could not avoid. 

Our pursuer soon came up, and joined us with all the familiarity 
of an old acquaintance. "My dear Drybone," cries he, shaking 
my friend's hand, " where have you been hiding this half a century? 
Positively I had fancied you were gone down to cultivate matrimony 
and your estate in the country." During the reply, I had an oppor- 
timity of surveying the appearance of our new companion: his 
hat was pinched up with pecuUar smartness; his looks were pale, 
thin, and sharp; romid his neck he wore a broad black riband, and 
in his bosom a buckle studded with glass; his coat was trimmed 
with tarnished t\^ast; he wore by his side a sword with a black hilt; 
and his stockings of silk, though newly washed, were grown yellow 
by long service. I was so much engaged with the pecuUarity of his 
dress, that I attended only to the latter part of my friend's reply, in 
which he compUmented JVIr. Tibbs on the taste of his clothes, and 
the bloom of his countenance. "Pshaw, pshaw! WiU, " cried the 
figure, " no more of that, if you love me: you know I hate flattery, — 
on my soul I do; and yet, to be sure, an intimacy with the great will 
improve one's appearance, and a course of venison will fatten ; and 
yet, faith, I despise the great as much as you do; but there are a 
great many damn'd honest fellows among them, and we must not 
quarrel with one half, because the other wants weeding. If they 
were all such as my Lord Mudler, one of the most good-natured 
creatures that ever squeezed a lemon, I should myself be among 
the number of their admirers. I was yesterday to dine at the 
Duchess of Piccadilly's. My lord was there. 'Ned,' says he to 
me, ' Ned,' says he, ' I'll hold gold to silver I can tell where you were 
poaching last night.' 'Poaching, my lord?' says I, 'faith you 
have missed already; for I staid at home, and let the girls poach for 
me. That's my way: I take a fine woman as some animals do their 
prey — stand still, and swoop, they fall into my mouth.' " 

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"Ah, Tibbs, thou art a happy fellow," cried my companion, with 
looks of infinite pit}'; " I hope your fortune is as much improved as 
your imderstanding in such company." — "Improved," repUed the 
other ; " You shall know, — but let it go no further — a great secret 
— five hundred a-year to begin with. — My lord's word of honour 
for it. His lordship took me down m his owti chariot yesterday, 
and we had a tete-a-tete dinner in the country, where we talked of 
nothing else." — "I fancy you forget, Sir," cried I, "you told us 
but this moment of your dining yesterday in town." — "Did I 
say so?" rephed he cooly; "to be sure if I said so, it was so — 
Dined in town; egad, now I do remember, I did dine in town; but 
I dined in the country too; for you must know, my boys, I eat two 
dinners. By the by, I am grown as nice as the devil in my eating. 
I'U teU you a pleasant affair about that: — We were a select party 
of us to dine at Lady Grogram's — an affected piece, but let it go 
no farther — a secret — Well, there happened to be no asafoetida 
in the sauce to a turkey, upon which, says I, " I'U hold a thousand 
guineas, and say done first, that — But, dear Drybone, you are an 
honest creature; lend me half-a-cro^\Ti for a minute or tv\^o, or so, 

just till but hearkee, ask me for it the next time we meet, or 

it may be t\\'enty to one but I forget to pay you." 

When he left us, our conversation naturally turned upon so 
extraordinary a character. "His very dress," cries my friend, "is 
not less extraordinary than his conduct. If you meet him this day, 
you find him in rags ; if the next, in embroidery. With those persons 
of distinction of whom he talks so familiarly, he has scarce a coffee- 
house acquaintance. However, both for the interests of society, and 
perhaps for his ovvti. Heaven has made him poor, and while all the 
world perceive his wants, he fancies them concealed from every 
eye. An agreeable companion, because he imderstands flattery; 
and aU must be pleased with the first part of his conversation, 
though all are sure of its ending with a demand on their purse. 
WTiile his youth countenances the levity of his conduct, he may 
thus earn a precarious subsistence; but when age comes on, the 
gravity of which is incompatible with buffoonery, then will he find 
himself forsaken by all; condemned in the decline of life to hang 
upon some rich family whom he once despised, there to undergo 
all the ingenuity of studied contempt, to be employed only as a spy 
upon the servants, or a bugbear to fright the children into obedi- 
ence." Adieu. 

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CITIZEN OF THE WORLD 

LETTER LV 
To the Same 

THE CHARACTER OF THE TRIFLER CONTINUED: WITH THAT OF HIS 
WIFE, HIS HOUSE, AND FURNITURE 

I AM apt to fancy I have contracted a new acquaintance whom 
it ^\ill be no easy matter to shake off. My little Beau yester- 
day overtook me again in one of the pubUc walks, and slapping me 
on the shoulder, saluted me with an air of the most perfect familiar- 
ity. His dress was the same as usual, except that he had more 
powder in his hair, wore a dirtier shirt, a pair of temple spectacles, 
and his hat under his arm. 

As I knew him to be a harmless, amusing little thing, I could not 
return his smiles with any degree of severity: so we walked forward 
on terms of the utmost intimacy, and in a few minutes discussed 
all the usual topics preHminary to particular conversation. The 
oddities that marked his character, however, soon began to appear; 
he bowed to several weU-dressed persons, who, by their manner of 
returning the compliment, appeared perfect strangers. At intervals 
he drew out a pocket-book, seeming to take memorandums before 
all the company, with much importance and assiduity. In this 
manner he led me through the length of the whole walk, fretting at 
his absurdities, and fancying myself laughed at not less than him 
by every spectator. 

When we were got to the end of our procession, "Blast me," 
cries he, with an air of vivacity, " I never saw the Park so thin in my 
life before! There's no company at all to-day; not a single face to 
be seen." — "No company!" interrupted I, peevishly; "no com- 
pany where there is such a crowd? why, man, there's too much. 
What are the thousands that have been laughing at us but com- 
pany?" "Lord, my dear," returned he, with the utmost good 
humour, "you seem immensely chagrined; but, blast me, when 
the world laughs at me, I laugh at the world, and so we are even. 
My Lord Trip, Bill Squash the Creolian, and I, sometimes make a 
party at being ridiculous; and so we say and do a thousand things 
for the joke's sake. But I see you are grave, and if you are for a 
fine grave sentimental companion, you shall dine with me and my 
wife to-day; I must insist on't. I'll introduce you to Mrs. Tibbs, a 

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lady of as elegant qualifications as any in nature; she was bred (but 
that's between ourselves), under the inspection of the Countess of 
All-night. A charming body of voice ; but no more of that, — she 
will give us a song. You shall see my Uttle girl too, CaroUna Wil- 
helmina Amelia Tibbs, a sweet pretty creature: I design her for my 
Lord Drumstick's eldest son; but that's in friendship, let it go no 
further: she's but six years old, and yet she walks a minuet, and 
plays on the guitar immensely already. I intend she shall be as 
perfect as possible in every accomplishment. In the first place, I'll 
make her a scholar: I'll teach her Greek myself, and learn that 
language purposely to instruct her; but let that be a secret." 

Thus saying, without waiting for a reply, he took me by the arm, 
and hauled me along. We passed through many dark alleys and 
winding ways; for, from some' motives to me unknown, he seemed 
to have a particular aversion to every frequented street; at last, 
however, we got to the door of a dismal-looking house in the outlets 
of the town, where he informed me he chose to reside for the benefit 
of the air. 

We entered the lower door, which ever seemed to he most hospi- 
tably open ; and I began to ascend an old and creaking staircase, 
when, as he mounted to show me the way, he demanded, whether 
I delighted in prospects; to which answering in the affirmative, 
" Then," says he, " I shall show you one of the most charming in the 
world, out of my window; we shall see the ships saiUng, and the 
whole country for twenty miles round, tip top, quite high. My 
Lord Swamp would give ten thousand guineas for such a one; but, 
as I sometimes pleasantly tell him, I always love to keep my pros- 
pects at home, that my friends may see me the oftener." 

By this time we were arrived as high as the stairs would permit 
us to ascend, tiU we came to what he was facetiously pleased to call 
the first floor down the chimney; and knocking at the door, a voice 
from within demanded, "Who's there?" My conductor answered 
that it was him. But this not satisfying the querist, the voice again 
repeated the demand; to which he answered louder than before; 
and now the door was opened by an old woman with cautious re- 
luctance. 

When we were got in, he welcomed me to his house with great 
ceremony, and tvirning to the old woman, asked where was her 
lady? "Good troth," rephed she, in a pecuHar dialect, "she's 
washing your twa shirts at the next door, because they have taken 

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an oath against lending out the tub any longer." — " My two 
shirts!" cried he in a tone that faltered with confusion, "what does 
the idiot mean?" — "I ken what I mean weel enough," repUed 
the other; "she's washing your twa shirts at the next door, because 

" "Fire and fury, no more of thy stupid explanations!" 

cried he; "go and inform her we have got company. Were that 
Scotch hag," continued he, turning to me, "to be for ever in my 
family, she would never learn politeness, nor forget that absurd 
poisonous accent of hers, or testify the smallest specimen of breeding 
of high Ufe; and yet it is very surprising too, as I had her from a 
ParUament man, a friend of mine from the Highlands, one of the 
poUtest men in the world ; but that's a secret." 

We waited some time for IVIrs. Tibbs's arrival, during which 
interval I had a full opportunity of surveying the chamber and all 
its furniture, which consisted of four chairs with old wrought 
bottoms, that he assured me were his wife's embroidery; a square 
table that had once been japanned; a cradle in one comer, a lumber- 
ing cabinet in the other; a broken shepherdess, and a mandarine 
without a head, were stuck over the chimney; and round the walls 
several paltry unframed pictures, which, he observed, were all his 
owTi drawing. " WTiat do you think. Sir, of that head in the comer, 
done in the manner of Grisoni? there's the true keeping in it; it 
is my own face, and though there happens to be no likeness, a 
Countess offered me a hundred for its fellow: I refused her, for, 
hang it, that would be mechanical you know." 

The wife at last made her appearance, at once a slattern and a 
coquette ; much emaciated, but still carrying the remains of beauty. 
She made tvN'enty apologies for being seen in such odious dishabille, 
but hoped to be excused, as she had stayed out all night at the 
gardens with the Countess, who was excessively fond of the horns. 
"And, indeed, my dear," added she, turning to her husband, "his 
lordship drank your health in a bumper." — "Poor Jack!" cries 
he, "a dear good-natured creature, I know he loves me. But I 
hope, my dear, you have given orders for dinner; you need make 
no great preparations neither, there are but three of us; something 

elegant, and Uttle will do, — a turbot, an ortolan, a " "Or 

what do you think, my dear," interrupts the wife, "of a nice pretty 
bit of ox-cheek, piping hot, and dressed with a little of my own 
sauce?" — "The very thing!" replies he; "it will eat best with 
some smart bottled beer: but be sure to let us have the sauce his 

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Grace was so fond of. I hate your immense loads of meat; that is 
countT}- all over; extremely disgusting to those who are in the least 
acquainted viith high life." 

By this time my curiosit}- began to abate, and my appetite to 
increase; the company of fools may at first make us smile, but at 
last never fails of rendering us melancholy: I therefore pretended 
to recollect a prior engagement, and. after ha^■ing shown my respect 
to the house, according to the fashion of the English, by gi\'ing the 
old sen-ant a piece of money at the door, I took my leave; ^Mr. 
Tibbs assuring me, that dinner, if I stayed, would be ready at least 
in less than two hours. 



LETTER L\Tn 

To the Same 

A MSITATION DrS-NER DESCRIBED 

AS the man in black takes even.- opportunit}' of introducing 
me to such company as may sen'e to indulge my speculative 
temper, or gratify my curiosit}-, I was, by his influence, lately in- 
vited to a visitation dinner. To understand this term, you must 
know, that it was formerly the custom here for the principal priests 
to go about the coimtr}- once a-year, and examine upon the spot, 
whether those of subordinate orders did their dut>-, or were quali- 
fied for the task; whether their temples were kept in proper repair 
or the lait}- pleased with their administration. 

Though a \-isitation of this nature was vers- useful, yet it was 
fotmd to be extremely troublesome, and for many reasons utterly 
inconvenient; for, as the principal priests were obUged to attend 
at coiirt, in order to solicit preferment, it was impossible they could 
at the same time attend in the covrntn,-, which was quite out of the 
road to promotion : if we add to this the gout, which has been time 
immemorial a clerical disorder here, together with the bad wine, 
and iU-dressed pro^isions that must infallibly be ser^-ed up by the 
way, it was not strange that the custom has been long discontinued. 
At present, therefore, even.- head of the church, instead of going 
about to \-i5it his priests, is satisfied if his priests come in a body 
once a-year to \is\\. him; by this means the dut}- of half a-year is 
despatched in a day. WTien assembled, he asks each in turn how 

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they have behaved, and are liked; upon which, those who have 
neglected their dut>', or are disagreeable to their congregation, no 
doubt accuse themselves, and tell him all their faults, for which he 
reprimands them most severely. 

The thoughts of being introduced into a company of philosophers 
and learned men, (for such I conceived them) gave me no small 
pleasure. I expected our entertainment would resemble those senti- 
mental banquets, so finely described by Xenophon and Plato: I was 
hoping some Socrates would be brought in from the door, in order 
to harangue upon diWne love : but as for eating and drinking, I had 
prepared myself to be disappointed in that particular. I was 
apprised that fasting and temperance were tenets strongly recom- 
mended to the professors of Christianity, and I had seen the frugality- 
and mortification of the priests of the East; so that I expected an en- 
tertainment where we should have much reasoning and little meat. 

Upon being introduced, I confess I found no great signs of morti- 
fication in the faces or persons of the company. However, I imputed 
their florid looks to temperance, and their corpulency to a sedentary 
way of living. I saw several preparations, indeed, for dinner, but 
none for philosophy. The company seemed to gaze upon the table 
with silent expectation; but this I easily excused. Men of wisdom, 
thought I, are ever slow of speech ; they deliver nothing unad\isedly. 
"Silence," says Confucius, "is a friend that will never betray." 
They are now probably inventing maxims or hard savings for their 
mutual instruction, when some one shall think proper to begin. 

My curiosity was now wrought up to the highest pitch; I impa- 
tiently looked round to see if any were going to interrupt the might}' 
pause; when at last one of the company declared, that there was a 
sow in his neighbourhood that farrowed fifteen pigs at a litter. This 
I thought a very preposterous beginning; but just as another was 
going to second the remark, dinner was served, which interrupted 
the conversation for that time. 

The appearance of dinner, which consisted of a variet}' of dishes, 
seemed to diffuse new cheerfulness upon every face ; so that I now 
expected the philosophical conversation to begin, as they improved 
in good humour. The principal priest, however, opened his mouth 
with only observing, that the venison had not been kept enough, 
though he had given strict orders for having it killed ten days before. 
"I fear," continued he, "it will be found to want the true healthy 
flavour; you will find nothing of the original wildness in it." A 

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priest, who sat next him, having smelt it, and wiped his nose, "Ah, 
my good lord," cries he, "you are too modest, it is perfectly fine; 
everybody knows that nobody understands keeping venison with 
your lordship." — "Ay, and partridges too," interrupted another; 
"I never find them right any where else." His lordship was going 
to reply, when a third took off the attention of the company, by 
recommending the pig as inimitable. " I fancy, my lord," continues 
he, "it has been smothered in its own blood." — "If it has been 
smothered in its blood," cried a facetious member, helping himself, 
"we'll now smother it in egg sauce." This poignant piece of 
humour produced a long luod laugh, which the facetious brother 
observing, and now that he was in luck, willing to second his blow, 
assured the company he would tell them a goo*d story about that: 
"As good a story," cries he, bursting into a violent fit of laughter 
himself, " as you ever heard in your lives. There was a farmer in 
my parish who used to sup upon wild ducks and flummery; so this 
farmer " "Doctor Marrowfat," cried his lordship, interrupt- 
ing him; "give me leave to drink your health;" "so — being fond 

of wild ducks and flummery, " " Doctor," adds a gentleman 

who sat next him, "let me advise you to a wing of this turkey;" — 

" so this farmer being fond " " Hob [and] nob. Doctor, which 

do you choose, white or red?" — "so, being fond of wild ducks and 

flummery; " "Take care of your band. Sir, it may dip in the 

gravy." The Doctor, now looking round, found not a single eye 
disposed to Hsten ; wherefore, calling for a glass of wine, he gulped 
down the disappointment and the tale in a bumper. 

The conversation now began to be a little more than a rhapsody 
of exclamations : as each had pretty well satisfied his own appetite, 
he now found sufficient time to press others. " Excellent ! the very 
thing! let me recommend the pig." "Do but taste the bacon! 
never ate a better thing in my life: exquisite! delicious!" This 
edifying discourse continued through three courses, which lasted 
as many hours, till every one of the company was unable to swallow 
or utter any thing more. 

It is very natural for men, who are abridged in one excess, to 
break into some other. The clergy here, particularly those who 
are advanced in years, think if they are abstemious with regard to 
women and wine, they may indulge their other appetites without 
censure. Thus some are found to rise in the morning only to a 
consultation with their cook about dinner, and, when that has been 
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swallowed, make no other use of their faculties (if they have any) 
but to ruminate on the succeeding meal. 

A debauch in wine is even more pardonable than this, since one 
glass insensibly leads on to another, and, instead of sating, whets 
the appetite. The progressive steps to it are cheerful and seducing; 
the grave are animated, the melancholy relieved, and ther is even 
classic authority to countenance the excess. But in eating, after 
nature is once satisfied, every additional morsel brings stupidity 
and distempers with it, and, as one of their own poets expresses it, — 

" The soul subsides, and wickedly inclines 
To seem but mortal, even in sound divines." 

Let me suppose, after such a meal as this I have been describing, 
while all the company are sitting in lethargic silence round the table, 
grunting under a load of soup, pig, pork, and bacon ; let me suppose, 
I say, some hungry beggar, with looks of want, peeping through 
one of the windows, and thus addressing the assembly: "Prithee, 
pluck those napkins from your chins; after nature is satisfied, all 
that you eat extraordinary is my property, and I claim it as mine. 
It was given you in order to relieve me, and not to oppress yourselves. 
How can they comfort or instruct others, who can scarce feel their 
own existence, except from the unsavoury returns of an ill-digested 
meal ? But though neither you nor the cushions you sit upon vdll 
hear me, yet the world regards the excesses of its teachers with a 
prying eye, and notes their conduct with double severity." I 
know no other answer any one of the company could make to such 
an expostulation but this: " Friend, you talk of our losing a character, 
and being disliked by the world ; well, and supposing all this to be 
true, what then! who cares for the world? We'll preach for the 
world, and the world shall pay us for preaching, whether we like 
each other or not." 



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CITIZEN OF THE WORLD 

LETTER LXIV 
To the Same 

THE GREAT EXCHANGE HAPPINESS FOR SHOW. THEIR FOLLY IN 
THIS RESPECT OF USE TO SOCIETY 

THE princes of Europe have found out a manner of rewarding 
their subjects who have behaved well, by presenting them 
with about two yards of blue ribbon, which is worn about the 
shoulder. They who are honoured with this mark of distinction 
are called knights, and the king himself is always the head of the 
order. This is a very frugal method of recompensing the most 
important services; and it is very fortunate for kings that their 
subjects are satisfied with such trifling rewards. Should a nobleman 
happen to lose his leg in battle, the king presents him with two yards 
of ribbon, and he is paid for the loss of his limb. Should an 
ambassador spend all his paternal fortune in supporting the honour 
of his country abroad, the king presents him with two yards of 
ribbon, which is to be considered as an equivalent to his estate. 
In short, while an European king has a yard of blue or green 
riband left, he need be under no apprehensions of wanting states- 
men, generals, and soldiers. 

I cannot sufficiently admire those kingdoms in which men with 
large patrimonial estates are willing thus to undergo real hardships 
for empty favours. A person, already possessed of a competent 
fortune, who undertakes to enter the career of ambition, feels many 
real inconveniences from his station, while it procm-es him no real 
happiness that he was not possessed of before. He could eat, 
drink, and sleep, before he became a coiurtier, as well, perhaps 
better, than when invested with his authority. He could command 
flatterers in a private station, as well as in his pubhc capacity, and 
indulge at home every favourite inclination, uncensured and unseen 
by the people. 

What real good, then, does an addition to a fortime already 
sufficient procure? Not any. Could the great man, by having 
his fortune increased, increase also his appetites, then precedence 
might be attended with real amusement. 

Was he, by having his one thousand made two, thus enabled to 
enjoy two wives, or eat two dinners, then, indeed, he might be 
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excused for undergoing some pain, in order to extend the sphere 
of his enjoyments. But, on the contrary, he finds his desire for 
pleasure often lessen, as he takes pains to be able to improve it; and 
his capacity of enjoyment diminishes as his fortune happens to 
increase. 

Instead, therefore, of regarding the great with envy, I generally 
consider them v^^ith some share of compassion. I look upon them 
as a set of good-natured, misguided people, who are indebted to us, 
and not to themselves, for all the happiness they enjoy. For our 
pleasure, and not their own, they sweat under a cumbrous heap of 
finery; for our pleasure, the lackeyed train, the slow parading 
pageant, with all the gravity of grandeur, moves in review : a single 
coat, or a single footman, answers all the purposes of the most 
indolent refinement as well; and those who have twenty, may be 
said to keep one for their own pleasure, and the other nineteen 
merely for ours. So true is the observation of Confucius, "That 
we take greater pains to persuade others that we are happy, than 
in endeavouring to think so ourselves." 

But though this desire of being seen, of being made the subject 
of discourse, and of supporting the dignities of an exalted station, 
be troublesome enough to the ambitious, yet it is well for society 
that there are men thus willing to exchange ease and safety for 
danger and a ribbon. We lose nothing by their vanity, and it 
would be unkind to endeavour to deprive a child of its rattle. If a 
duke or a duchess are willing to carry a long train for our entertain- 
ment, so much the worse for themselves-, if they choose to exhibit 
in public, with a hundred lackeys and mamelukes in their equipage, 
for our entertainment, still so much the worse for themselves; it is 
the spectators alone who give and receive the pleasure; they only 
[are] the sweating figures that swell the pageant. 

A mandarine, who took much pride in appearing with a number 
of jewels on every part of his robe, was once accosted by an old sly 
bonze, who, following him through several streets, and bowing 
often to the ground, thanked him for his jewels. "What does the 
man mean?" cried the mandarine: "Friend, I never gave thee any 
of my jewels." — "No," replied the other; "but you have let me 
look at them, and that is all the use you can make of them yourself; 
so there is no difference between us, except that you have the trouble 
of watching them, and that is an employment I don't much desire." 
Adieu. 



CITIZEN OF THE WORLD 

LETTER LXV 

To the Same 

THE HISTORY OF A PHILOSOPHIC COBBLER 

THOUGH not very fond of seeing a pageant myself, yet I am 
generally pleased with being in the crowd which sees it: it is 
amusing to observe the effect which such a spectacle has upon the 
variety of faces; the pleasure it excites in some, the envy in others, 
and the wishes it raises in all. With this design I lately went to 
see the entry of a foreign ambassador, resolved to make one in the 
mob, to shout as they shouted, to fix with earnestness upon the same 
frivolous objects, and participate for a while the pleasures and the 
wishes of the vulgar. 

Struggling here for some time, in order to be first to see the caval- 
cade as it passed, some one of the crowd unluckily happened to 
tread upon my shoe, and tore it in such a manner, that I was utterly 
imqualified to march forward with the main body, and obliged to 
fall back in the rear. Thus rendered incapable of being a spectator 
of the show myself, I was at least willing to observe the spectators, 
and limped behind like one of the invalids which follow the march 
of an army. 

In this plight, as I was considering the eagerness that appeared 
on every face, how some bustled to get foremost, and others con- 
tented themselves with taking a transient peep when they could; 
how some praised the four black servants that were stuck behind 
one of the equipages, and some the ribbons that decorated the 
horses' necks in another, my attention was called off to an object 
more extraordinary than any I had yet seen : a poor cobbler sat in 
his stall by the way-side, and continued to work, while the crowd 
passed by, without testifying the smallest share of curiosity. I own 
his want of attention excited mine; and as I stood in need of his 
assistance, I thought it best to employ a philosophic cobbler on this 
occasion. Perceiving my business, therefore, he desired me to 
enter and sit down, took my shoe in his lap, and began to mend it 
with his usual indifference and taciturnity. 

"How, my friend," said I to him, "can you continue to work, 

while all those fine things are passing by your door?" "Very fine 

they are, master," returned the cobbler, " for those that like 

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to be sure; but what are all those fine things to me? You don't 
know what it is to be a cobbler, and so much the better for yourself. 
Your bread is baked : you may go and see sights the whole day, and 
eat a warm supper when you come home at night; but for me, if 
I should run hunting after all these fine folk, what should I get by 
my journey but an appetite, and, God help me! I have too much of 
that at home already, without stirring out for it. Your people who 
may eat foiu" meals a-day, and a supper at night, are but a bad ex- 
ample to such a one as I. No, master, as God has called me into 
this world in order to mend old shoes, I have no business with fine 
folk, and they no business with me." I here interrupted him with a 
smile. "See this last, master," continues he, "and this hammer; 
this last and hammer are the two best friends I have in this world ; 
nobody else will be my friend, because I want a friend. The great 
folks you saw pass by just now have five hundred friends, because 
they have no occasion for them: now, while I stick to my good 
friends here, I am very contented ; but when I ever so little nm after 
sights and fine things, I begin to hate my work; I grow sad, and 
have no heart to mend shoes any longer." 

This discourse only served to raise my curiosity to know more of 
a man whom nature had thus formed into a philosopher. I there- 
fore insensibly led him into a history of his adventures: "I have 
Hved," said he, "a wandering sort of a life now five-and-fifty years, 
here to-day, and gone to-morrow; for it was my misfortune, when 
I was yoimg, to be fond of changing." — " You have been a trav- 
eller, then, I presume," interrupted I. "I cannot boast much of 
travelling," continued he, "for I have never left the parish in which 
I was bom but three times in my life, that I can remember; but 
then there is not a street in the whole neighbourhood that I have not 
lived in, at some time or another. When I began to settle and to 
take to my business in one street, some unforeseen misfortune, or 
a desire of trying my luck elsewhere, has removed me, perhaps a 
whole mile away from my former customers, while some more 
lucky cobbler would come into my place, and make a handsome 
fortime among friends of my making: there was one who actually 
died in a stall that I had left, worth seven povmds seven shilUngs, all 
in hard gold, which he had quilted into the waistband of his 
breeches." 

I could not but smile at these migrations of a man by the fireside, 
and continued to ask if he had ever been married. "Ay, that I 

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have, master," replied he, "for sixteen long years; and a weary 
life I had of it. Heaven knows. My wife took it into her head, that 
the only way to thrive in this world was to save money; so. though 
our coming5-in were but about three shillings a-week. all that ever 
she could lay her hands upon she used to hide away from me. though 
we were obliged to star\-e the whole week after for it 

" The first three years we used to quarrel about this ever}- day. and 
I always got the bener; but she had a hard spirit, and still continued 
to hide as usual : so that I was at last tired of quarrelling and getting 
the bettCT, and she scraped and scraped at pleasure, till I was almost 
starved to death. Her conduct drove me at last in despair to the 
alehouse; here I used to sit with people who hated home like my- 
self, drank while I had money left, and ran in score when any body 
would trust me; till at last the landlady coming one day with a long 
bill when I was from home, and putting it into my wife's hands, the 
length of it effectually broke her heart. I searched the whole stall, 
after she was dead, for money, but she had hidden it so effectually, 
that with all my pains, I could never find a farthing." 

By this time my shoe was mended, and satisfying the poor artist 
for his trouble, and rewarding him besides for his information, I 
took my leave, and returned home to lengthen out the amusement 
his conversation afforded, by commimicating it to my frioid. 
AdieiL 

LETTER LXXI 
To the Same 

THE EHLAJBBY BILA.r. THE MAX IN BLACK. THE CHINESE PHILOSOPHER, 
ETC., AT VAITXHALL 

THE people of London are as fond of walking as oxa friends at 
Pekin of riding; one of the principal entertainments of the 
citizens here in simimer is to repair about nightfall to a garden not 
far from town, where they walk about, show their best clothes and 
best faces, and listen to a concert pro%-ided for the occasion. 

I accepted an in%-itation a few evenings ago from my old friend, 
the man in black, to be one of a part}- that was to sup there : and 
at the appointed hour waited upon him at his lodgings. There 
I fovmd the company assembled, and expecting my arrival. Oxn 
party consisted of my friend in superlative finer\', his stockings 
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rolled, a black velvet waistcoat, which was formerly new, and a 
grey wig combed do'mi in imitation of hair; a pa^\■n broker's widow, 
of whom, by the by, my friend was a professed admirer, dressed 
out in green damask, with three gold rings on even,- finger; Mr. 
Tibbs, the second-rate beau I have formerly described, together 
with his lady, in flimsy silk, dirt}- gauze instead of linen, and a hat 
as big as an umbrella. 

Oiir first difficulty was in settling how we shovild set out. Mrs. 
Tibbs had a natm-al aversion to the water, and the widow, being 
a little in flesh, as warmly protested against walking; a coach was 
therefore agreed upon; which being too small to earn,- five, Mr. 
Tibbs consented to sit in his wife's lap. 

In this manner, therefore, we set forward, being entertained 
by the way with the bodings of Mr. Tibbs, who assiired us he did 
not expect to see a single creature for the evening above the degree 
of a cheesemonger; that this was the last night of the gardens, and 
that consequently we should be pestered with the nobilit}- and 
gentr\- from Thames Street and Crooked Lane; with several other 
prophetic ejaculations, probably inspired by the xmeasiness of his 
situation. 

The illuminations began before we arrived, and I must confess, 
that upon entering the gardens I found ever}- sense overpaid with 
more than expected pleasure; the lights every where glimmering 
through the scarcely-mo\-ing trees — the full-bodied concert burst- 
ing on the stillness of the night — the natural concert of the birds, 
in the more retired part of the grove %-ieing with that which was 
formed by art; the company gaily dressed, looking satisfaction, 
and the table spread with various delicacies, all conspired to fill 
my imagination with the \-isionar}- happiness of the Arabian law- 
giver, and lifted me into an ecstasy of admiration. " Head of Con- 
fucius," cried I to my friend, " this is fijie I this unites nual beautv 
with courdy magnificence I K we expect the \irgins of immortalitv-, 
that hang on even,- tree, and may be plucked at even,- desire, I do 
not see how this falls short of Mahomet's Paradise!" — "As for 
A-irgins," cries my friend, "it is true they are a fruit that do not 
much abound in our gardens here; but if ladies, as plent}- as apples 
in autumn, and as compl}-ing as any Houri of them all, can content 
you, I fancy we have no need to go to heaven for Paradise." 

I was going to second his remarks, when we were called to a 
consultation by Mr. Tibbs and the rest of the company, to know 
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in what manner we were to lay out the evening to the greatest 
advantage. Mrs. Tibbs was for keeping the genteel walk of the 
garden, where, she observed, there was always the very best com- 
pany; the widow, on the contrary, who came but once a season, was 
for securing a good standing place to see the waterworks, which 
she assured us would begin in less than an hour at farthest; a dis- 
pute therefore began, and as it was managed between two of very 
opposite characters, it threatened to grow more bitter at every 
reply. Mrs. Tibbs wondered how people could pretend to know 
the polite world, who had received all their rudiments of breeding 
behind a counter; to which the other replied, that though some 
people sat behind counters, yet they could sit at the head of their 
own tables too, and carve three good dishes of hot meat whenever 
they thought proper, which was more than some people could say 
for themselves, that hardly knew a rabbit and onions from a green 
goose and gooseberries. 

It is hard to say where this might have ended, had not the hus- 
band, who probably knew the impetuosity of his wife's disposition, 
proposed to end the dispute by adjourning to a box, and try if there 
was any thing to be had for supper that was supportable. To this 
we all consented ; but here a new distress arose ; IVIr. and Mrs. Tibbs 
would sit in none but a genteel box — a box where they might see 
and be seen — one, as they expressed it, in the very focus of pubHc 
view; but such a box was not easy to be obtained, for though we 
were perfectly convinced of our own gentility, and the gentihty 
of our appearance, yet we found it a difficult matter to persuade 
the keepers of the boxes to be of our opinion ; they chose to reserve 
genteel boxes for what they judged more genteel company. 

At last, however, we were fixed, though somewhat obscurely, 
and suppUed with the usual entertainment of the place. The 
widow found the supper excellent, but Mrs. Tibbs thought every 
thing detestable. "Come, come, my dear," cries the husband, 
by way of consolation, " to be sure we can't find such dressing here 
as we have at Lord Crump's or Lady Crimp's; but, for Vauxhall 
dressing, it is pretty good: it is not their victuals, indeed, I find 
fault with, but their wine; their wine," cries he, drinking off a 
glass, "indeed, is most abominable." 

By this last contradiction, the widow was fairly conquered in 
point of politeness. She perceived now that she had no preten- 
sions in the world to taste; her very senses were vulgar, since she 
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had praised detestable custard, and smacked at wretched wine; 
she was therefore content to yield the victory, and for the rest of 
the night to listen and improve. It is true, she would now and 
then forget herself, and confess she was pleased, but they soon 
brought her back again to miserable refinement. She once praised 
the painting of the box in which we were sitting, but was soon con- 
vinced that such paltry pieces ought rather to excite horror than 
satisfaction: she ventured again to commend one of the singers, 
but Mrs. Tibbs soon let her know, in the style of a connoisseur, 
that the singer in question had neither ear, voice, nor judgment. 

Mr. Tibbs, now, willing to prove that his wife's pretensions to 
music were just, entreated her to favour the company with a song; 
but to this she gave a positive denial — " for you know very well, 
my dear," says she, "that I am not in voice to-day, and when 
one's voice is not equal to one's judgment, what signifies singing? 
besides, as there is no accompaniment, it would be but spoiling 
music." All these excuses, however, were overruled by the rest 
of the company, who, though one would think they already had 
music enough, joined in the entreaty. But particularly the widow, 
now willing to convince the company of her breeding, pressed so 
warmly, that she seemed determined to take no refusal. At last, 
then, the lady compUed, and after humming for some minutes, 
began with such a voice, and such affectation, as, I could perceive, 
gave but little satisfaction to any except her husband. He sat 
with rapture in his eye, and beat time with his hand on the table. 

You must observe, my friend, that it is the custom of this country, 
when a lady or gentleman happens to sing, for the company to sit 
as mute and motionless as statues. Every feature, every Umb, 
must seem to correspond in fixed attention; and while the song 
continues, they are to remain in a state of universal petrifaction. 
In this mortifying situation we had continued for some time, 
listening to the song, and looking with tranquillity, when the 
master of the box came to inform us, that the waterworks were 
going to begin. At this information I could instantly perceive the 
widow bounce from her seat; but correcting herself, she sat down 
again, repressed by motives of good breeding. Mrs. Tibbs, who 
had seen the waterworks a hundred times, resolving not to be 
interrupted, continued her song without any share of mercy, nor 
had the smallest pity on our impatience. The widow's face, I 
own, gave me high entertainment; in it I could plainly read the 
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struggle she felt between good -breeding and curiosity: she talked 
of the waterworks the whole evening before, and seemed to have 
come merely in order to see them; but then she could not bounce 
out in the very middle of a song, for that would be forfeiting all 
pretensions to high Hfe, or high-Uved company, ever after. Mrs. 
Tibbs, therefore, kept on singing, and we continued to listen, 
till at last, when the song was just concluded, the waiter came to 
inform us that the waterworks were over! 

"The waterworks over!" cried the widow; "the waterworks 
over already! that's impossible! they can't be over so soon!" — 
"It is not my business," replied the fellow, "to contradict your 
ladyship; I'll rim again and see." He went, and soon rettimed 
with a confirmation of the dismal tidings. No ceremony could 
now bind my friend's disappointed mistress; she testified her 
displeasure in the openest manner: in short, she now began to 
find fault in turn, and at last insisted upon going home, just at the 
time that Mr. and Mrs. Tibbs assured the company, that the 
poHte hovu-s were going to begin, and that the ladies would in- 
stantaneously be entertained with the horns. Adieu. 



LETTER LXXIV 

To the Same 

THE DESCRIPTION OF A LITTLE GREAT MAN 

IN reading the newspapers here, I have reckoned up not less 
than tw^enty-five great men, seventeen very great men, and 
nine very extraordinary men, in less than the compass of half-a-year. 
"These," say the gazettes, "are the men that posterity are to gaze 
at with admiration ; these the names that Fame will be employed in 
holding up for the astonishment of succeeding ages." Let me see 
— forty-six great men in half-a-year, amount to just ninety-two in 
a year. I wonder how posterity will be able to remember them all, 
or whether the people in future times will have any other business 
to mind, but that of getting the catalogue by heart. 

Does the mayor of a corporation make a speech ? — he is in- 
stantly set down for a great man. — Does a pedant digest his 
commonplace-book into a folio? — he quickly becomes great. 
Does a poet string up trite sentiments in rhyme ? he also becomes 
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the great man of the hour. How diminutive soever the object of 
admiration, each is followed by a crowd of still more diminutive 
admirers. The shout begins in his train; onward he marches to 
immortality; looks back at the pursuing crowd with self-satisfac- 
tion; catching all the oddities, the whimsies, the absurdities, and 
the littlenesses of conscious greatness by the way. 

I was yesterday invited by a gentleman to dinner, who promised 
that our entertainment should consist of a haunch of venison, a 
turtle, and a great man. I came according to appointment. The 
venison was fine, the turtle good, but the great man insupportable. 
The moment I ventured to speak, I was at once contradicted with 
a snap. I attempted, by a second and a third assault, to retrieve 
my lost reputation, but was still beat back with confusion. I was 
resolved to attack him once more from entrenchment, and turned 
the conversation upon the government of China: but even here he 
asserted, snapped, and contradicted as before. ''Heavens," 
thought I, "this man pretends to know China even better than 
myself!" I looked roimd to see who was on my side; but every 
eye was fixed in admiration on the great man: I therefore at last 
thought proper to sit silent, and act the pretty gentleman during 
the ensuing conversation. 

When a man has once seciired a circle of admirers, he may be as 
ridiculous here as he thinks proper; and it all passes for elevation 
of sentiment, or learned absence. If he trangresses the common 
forms of breeding, mistakes even a teapot for a tobacco-box, it is 
said that his thoughts are fixed on more important objects: to speak 
and to act like the rest of mankind is to be no greater than they. 
There is something of oddity in the very idea of greatness; for we 
are seldom astonished at a thing very much resembling ourselves. 

When the Tartars make a Lama, their first care is to place him in 
a dark comer of the temple: here he is to sit half concealed from 
view, to regulate the motion of his hands, lips, and eyes; but, above 
all, he is enjoined gravity and silence. This, however, is but the 
prelude to his apotheosis : a set of emissaries are dispatched among 
the people, to cry up his piety, gravity, and love of raw flesh; the 
people take them at their word, approach the Lama, now become 
an idol, with the most humble prostration; he receives their ad- 
dresses without motion, commences a god, and is ever after fed by 
his priests with the spoon of immortality. The same receipt in 
this country serves to make a great man. The idol only keeps close, 



CITIZEN OF THE WORLD 

sends out his little emissaries to be hearty in his praise ; and straight, 
whether statesman or author, he is set down in the list of fame, 
continuing to be praised while it is fashionable to praise, or while 
he prudently keeps his minuteness concealed from the public. 

I have visited many countries, and have been in cities without 
number, yet never did I enter a town which could not produce ten 
or twelve of those little great men ; all fancying themselves known to 
the rest of the world, and complimenting each other upon their 
extensive reputation. It is amusing enough when two of those 
domestic prodigies of learning mount the stage of ceremony, and 
give and take praise from each other. I have been present when 
a German doctor, for having pronounced a panegyric upon a cer- 
tain monk, was thought the most ingenious man in the world; till 
the monk soon after divided this reputation by returning the com- 
pliment; by which means, they both marched off with universal 
applause. 

The same degree of undeserved adulation that attends our great 
man while living, often also follows him to the tomb. It frequently 
happens that one of his little admirers sits down, big with the impor- 
tant subject, and is delivered of the history of his life and writings. 
This may properly be called the revolutions of a life between the 
fireside and the easy chair. In this we learn the year in which he 
was bom, at what an early age he gave symptoms of uncommon 
genius and application, together with some of his smart sayings, 
collected by his aunt and mother while yet but a boy. The next 
book introduces him to the imiversity, where we are informed of 
his amazing progress in learning, his excellent skill in darning 
stockings, and his new invention for papering books to save the 
covers. He next makes his appearance in the republic of letters, 
and publishes his folio. Now the colossus is reared, his works are 
eagerly bought up by all the purchasers of scarce books. The 
learned societies invite him to become a member: he disputes 
against some foreigner with a long Latin name, conquers in the 
controversy, is complimented by several authors of gravity and 
importance, is excessively fond of egg-sauce with his pig, becomes 
president of a literary club and dies in the meridian of his glory. 
Happy they who thus have some little faithful attendant, who never 
forsakes them, but prepares to wrangle and to praise against every 
opposer; at once ready to increase their pride while living, and 
their character when dead! For you and me, my friend, who have 
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no humble admirer thus to attend us — we, who neither are, nor 
never will be, great men, and who do not much care whether we 
are great men or no, at least let us strive to be honest men, and to 
have common senSe. [Adieu.] 

LETTER LXXVII 

To the Same 

THE BEHAVIOUR OF A SHOPKEEPER AND HIS JOURNEYMAN 

THE shops of London are as well furnished as those of Pekin. 
Those of London have a picture hung at their door, informing 
the passengers what they have to sell, as those at Pekin have a 
board to assure the buyer that they have no intentions to cheat him. 

I was this morning to buy silk for a nightcap: immediately upon 
entering the mercer's shop, the master and his two men, with wigs 
plastered with powder, appeared to ask my commands. They were 
certainly the civilest people alive; if I but looked, they flew to the 
place where I cast my eye; every motion of mine sent them running 
roimd the whole shop for my satisfaction. I informed them that I 
wanted what was good, and they showed me not less than forty 
pieces, and each was better than the former, the prettiest pattern 
in nature, and the fittest in the world for nightcaps. " My very good 
friend," said I to the mercer, "you must not pretend to instruct me 
in silks; I know these in particular to be no better than your mere 
flimsy Bungees." — "That may be," cried the mercer, who, I 
afterwards found, had never contradicted a man in his life; "I can't 
pretend to say but they may; but I can assure you, my Lady Trail 
has had a sacque from this piece this very morning." — "But 
friend," said I, " though my lady has chosen a sacque from it, I see 
no necessity that I should wear it for a nightcap." — "That may 
be," returned he again, " yet what becomes a pretty lady, will at any 
time look well on a handsome gentleman." This short compliment 
was thrown in so very seasonably upon my ugly face, that even 
though I disliked the silk, I desired him to cut me off the pattern 
of a nightcap. 

While this business was consigned to his journeymen, the master 
himself took down some pieces of silk still finer than any I had yet 
seen, and spreading them before me, "There," cries he, "there's 
beauty; my Lord Snakeskin has bespoke the fellow to this for the 

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birth-night this very morning; it would look charmingly in waist- 
coats." — "But I don't want a waistcoat," replied I. "Not want 
a waistcoat!" returned the mercer, "then I would advise you to 
buy one; when waistcoats are wanted, you may depend upon it 
they will come dear. Always buy before you want, and you are 
sure to be well used, as they say in Cheapside." There was so 
much justice in his advice, that I could not refuse taking it; besides, 
the silk, which was really a good one, increased the temptation ; so I 
gave orders for that too. 

As I was waiting to have my bargains measured and cut, which, 
I know not how, they executed but slowly, during the interval the 
mercer entertained me with the modem manner of some of the 
nobQity receiving company in their morning gowns; "Perhaps, Sir," 
adds he, "you have a mind to see what kind of silk is vmiversally 
worn." Without waiting for my reply, he spreads a piece before 
me, which might be reckoned beautiful even in China. "If the 
nobility," continues he, "were to know I sold this to any under a 
Right Honourable, I should certainly lose their custom; you see, 
my Lord, it is at once rich, tasty, and quite the thing." — "I am 
no Lord," interrupted I. — "I beg pardon," cried he; "but be 
pleased to remember, when you intend bming a morning gown, 
that you had an offer from me of something worth money. Con- 
science, Sir, conscience is my way of dealing; you may buy a 
morning govvTi now, or you may stay till they become dearer and 
less fashionable; but it is not my business to advise." In short, 
most reverend Fum, he persuaded me to buy a morning gowTi also, 
and would probably have persuaded me to have bought half the 
goods in his shop, if I had stayed long enough, or was fiimished with 
sufficient money. 

Upon returning home, I could not help reflecting, with some 
astonishment, how this ven,' man, with such a confined education 
and capacity, was yet capable of turning me as he thought proper, 
and moulding me to his inclinations ! I knew he was only answering 
his ovNTi purposes, even while he attempted to appear solicitous about 
mine: yet, by a voluntary infatuation, a sort of passion compounded 
of vanity and good-nature, I walked into the snare with my eyes 
open, and put myself to future pain in order to give him immediate 
pleasure. The wisdom of the ignorant somewhat resembles the in- 
stinct of animals; it is diffused in but a very narrow sphere, but with- 
in that circle it acts with vigour, vmiformity, and success. Adieu. 

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LETTER LXXVIII 

To the Same 

THE FRENCH RIDICULED AFTER THEIR OWN MANNER 

FROM my former accoimts, you may be apt to fancy the English 
the most ridiculous people under the sun. They are indeed 
ridiculous; yet every other nation in Europe is equally so; each 
laughs at each, and the Asiatic at all. 

I may, upon another occasion, point out what is most strikingly 
absurd in other countries; I shall at present confine myself only to 
France. The first national peculiarity a traveller meets upon enter- 
ing that kingdom, is an odd sort of staring vivacity in every eye, 
not excepting even the children; the people, it seems, have got it 
into their heads, that they have more wit than others, and so stare, 
in order to look smart. 

I know not how it happens, but there appears a sickly delicacy 
in the faces of their finest women. This may have introduced the 
use of paint, and paint produces wrinkles; so that a fine lady shall 
look like a hag at twenty-three. But as, in some measure, they 
never appear young, so it may be equally asserted, that they actually 
think themselves never old; a gentle Miss shall prepare for new 
conquests at sixty, shall hobble a rigadoon when she can scarce 
walk out without a crutch; she shall affect the girl, play her fan and 
her eyes, and talk of sentiments, bleeding hearts, and expiring for 
love, when actually dying with age. Like a departing philosopher 
she attempts to make her last moments the most brilliant of her life. 

Their ci\ility to strangers is what they are chiefly proud of; and, 
to confess sincerely, their beggars are the very politest beggars I 
ever knew: in other places a traveller is addressed with a piteous 
whine, or a sturdy solemnity, but a French beggar shall ask your 
charity with a very genteel bow, and thank you for it with a smile 
and a shrug. 

Another instance of this people's breeding I must not forget. 
An Englishman would not speak his native language in a company 
of foreigners, where he was sure that none understood him; a 
travelling Hottentot himself would be silent if acquainted only 
with the language of his country; but a Frenchman shall talk to 
you whether you understand his language or not; never troubling 

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his head whether you have learned French, slill he keeps up the 
conversation, fixes his eye full in your face, and asks a thousand 
questions, which he answers himself, for want of a more satisfac- 
tory reply. 

But their civility to foreigners is not half so great as their admira- 
tion of themselves. Every thing that belongs to them and their 
nation is great, magnificent beyond expression, quite romantic! 
every garden is a paradise, every hovel a palace, and every woman 
an angel. They shut their eyes close, throw their mouths wide open, 
and cry out in a rapture, "Sacre! what beauty! O del! what 
taste ! Mort de ma vie ! what grandeur ! was ever any people like 
ourselves? we are the nation of men, and all the rest no better than 
two-legged barbarians." 

I fancy the French would make the best cooks in the world if 
they had but meat; as it is, they can dress you out five different 
dishes from a nettle -top, seven from a dock-leaf, and twice as many 
from a frog's haunches; these eat prettily enough when one is a 
little used to them, are easy of digestion, and seldom overload the 
stomach with crudities. They seldom dine under seven hot dishes: 
it is true, indeed, with all this magnificence, they seldom spread 
a cloth before the guests; but in that I cannot be angry with them, 
since those who have got no linen on their backs, may very well 
be excused for wanting it on their tables. 

Even religion itself loses its solemnity among them. Upon their 
roads, at about every five miles distance, you see an image of the 
Virgin Mary, dressed up in grim head-clothes, painted cheeks, and 
an old red petticoat; before her a lamp is often kept burning, at 
which, with the saint's permission, I have frequendy lighted my 
pipe. Instead of the Virgin, you are sometimes presented with 
a crucifix, at other times with a wooden Saviour, fitted out in com- 
plete garniture, with sponge, spear, nails, pincers, hammer, bees- 
wax, and vinegar-bottle. Some of those images, I have been told, 
came down from heaven; if so, in heaven they have but bungling 
workmen. 

In passing through their towns, you frequently see the men sitting 
at the doors knitting stockings, while the care of cultivating the 
ground and pruning the vines falls to the women. This is, perhaps, 
the reason why the fair sex are granted some peculiar privileges in 
this covmtry; particularly, when they can get horses, of riding with- 
out a side-saddle. 

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CITIZEN OF THE WORLD 

But I begin to think you may find this description pert and dull 
enough; perhaps it is so; yet, in general, it is the manner in which 
the French usually describe foreigners; and it is but just io force 
a part of that ridicule back upon them, which they attempt to lavish 
on others. Adieu. 

LETTER LXXIX 

To the Same 

THE PREPARATIONS OF BOTH THEATRES, FOR A WINTER CAMPAIGN 

THE tv\^o theatres which serve to amuse the citizens here, are 
again opened for the winter. The mimetic troops, different 
from those of the state, begin their campaign when all the others 
quit the field; and, at a time when the Europeans cease to destroy 
each other in reality, they are entertained with mock battles upon 
the stage. 

The dancing master once more shakes his quivering feet; the 
carpenter prepares his paradise of pasteboard; the hero resolves 
to cover his forehead with brass, and the heroine begins to scour 
up her copper tail, preparative to future operations; in short, all 
are in motion, from the theatrical letter carrier in yellow clothes, 
to Alexander the Great that stands on a stool. 

Both houses have already commenced hostilities. War, open 
war, and no quarter received or given ! Two singing women, like 
heralds, have begun the contest; the whole town is divided on this 
solemn occasion ; one has the finest pipe, the other the finest manner; 
one curtsies to the ground, the other salutes the audience with a 
smile ; one comes on with modesty which asks, the other with bold- 
ness which extorts applause; one wears powder, the other has none; 
one has the longest waist, but the other appears most easy: all, 
all is important and serious; the town as yet perseveres in its neu- 
trality ; a cause of such moment demands the most mature delibera- 
tion; they continue to exhibit, and it is very possible this contest 
may continue to please to the end of the season. 

But the generals of either army have, as I am told, several rein- 
forcements to lend occasional assistance. If they produce a pair 
of diamond buckles at one house, we have a pair of eyebrows that 
can match them at the other. If we outdo them in our attitude, 
they can overcome us by a shrug ; if we can bring more children on 

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the stage, they can bring more guards in red clothes, who strut and 
shoulder their swords to the astonishment of every spectator. 

They tell me here, that people frequent the theatre in order to be 
instructed as well as amused. I smile to hear the assertion. If I 
ever go to one of their playhouses, what with trumpets, hallooing 
behind the stage, and bawling upon it, I am quite dizzy before the 
performance is over. If I enter the house with any sentiments 
in my head, I am sure to have none going away, the whole mind 
being filled with a dead march, a funeral procession, a cat-call, a 
jig, or a tempest. 

There is, perhaps, nothing more easy than to write properly for 
the English theatre; I am amazed that none are apprenticed to the 
trade. The author, when well acquainted with the value of thimder 
and lightning ; when versed in all the m)-stery of scene-shifting and 
trap-doors ; when skilled in the proper periods to introduce a wire- 
walker or a waterfall; when instructed in every actor's peculiar 
talent, and capable of adapting his speeches to the supposed 
excellence; when thus instructed, he knows all that can give a 
modem audience pleasure. One player shines in an exclamation, 
another in a groan, a third in a horror, a fourth in a start, a fifth in a 
smile, a sixth faints, and a seventh fidgets round the stage with 
peculiar %avacity; that piece, therefore, will succeed best, where 
each has a proper opportunity of shining: the actor's business is 
not so much to adapt himself to the poet, as the poet's to adapt him- 
self to the actor. 

The great secret, therefore, of tragedy writing, at present, is a 
perfect acquaintance with theatrical "ah" 's and "oh" 's; a certain 
number of these, interspersed with "gods!" "tortures!" "racks!" 
and "damnation!" shall distort every actor almost into con\ailsions, 
and draw tears from even,- spectator; a proper use of these will 
infallibly fill the whole house with applause. But, above all, a 
whining scene must strike most forcibly. I would ad\ise, from 
my present knowledge of the audience, the two favourite players 
of the town to introduce a scene of this sort in ever}' play. Towards 
the middle of the last act, I would have them enter with wUd looks 
and outspread arms: there is no necessity for speaking, they are 
only to groan at each other; they must var}- the tones of exclamation 
and despair through the whole theatrical gamut, wring their figures 
into every shape of distress, and, when their calamities have dra%\Ti 
a proper quantity of tears from the sjTnpathetic spectators, they 

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CITIZEN OF THE WORLD 

may go off in dumb solemnity at different doors, clasping their 
hands, or slapping their pocket-holes: this, which may be called a 
tragic pantomime, will answer every purpose of moving the passions 
as well as words could have done, and it must save those expenses 
which go to reward an author. 

All modem plays that would keep the audience alive, must be 
conceived in this manner; and, indeed, many a modern play is 
made up on no other plan. This is the merit that lifts up the heart, 
like opium, into a rapture of insensibility, and can dismiss the mind 
from all the fatigue of thinking: this is the eloquence that shines in 
many a long forgotten scene, which has been reckoned excessive 
fine upon acting; this the lightning that flashes no less in the hyper- 
bolical t}Tant, who breakfasts on the wind, than in little Norval, as 
harmless as the babe unborn. Adieu. 



LETTER LXXXI 

To the Same 

THE ladies' trains RIDICULED 

I HAVE as yet given you but a short and imperfect description 
of the ladies of England. Woman, my friend, is a subject not 
easily imderstood, even in China; what, therefore, can be expected 
from my knowledge of the sex in a coimtry where they are univer- 
sally allowed to be ridldes, and I but a stranger ? 

To confess a truth, I was afraid to begin the description, lest the 
sex should undergo some new revolution before it was finished, and 
my picture should thus become old before it could well be said to 
have ever been new. To-day they are lifted upon stilts ; to-morrow 
they lower their heels, and raise their heads; their clothes at one 
time are bloated out with whalebone; at present they have laid their 
hoops aside, and are become as slim as mermaids. All, all is in a 
state of continual fluctuation, from the mandarine's wife who 
rattles through the streets in her chariot, to the humble sempstress 
who clatters over the pavement in iron-shod pattens. 

What chiefly distinguishes the sex at present is the train. As a 
lady's quality or fashion was once determined here by the circum- 
ference of her hoop, both are now measured by the length of her 
taQ. Women of moderate fortunes are contented with tails mod- 

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CITIZEN OF THE WORLD 

erately long; but ladies of true taste and distinction set no bounds to 
their ambition in this particular. I am told the Lady Mayoress, 
on days of ceremony, carries one longer than a bell-wether of 
Bantam, whose tail, you know, is trundled along in a wheel-barrow. 

Sun of China, what contradictions do we find in this strange 
world ! not only the people of dififerent coim tries think in opposition 
to each other, but the inhabitants of a single island are often found 
inconsistent with themselves. Would you believe it? this very 
people, my Fum, who are so fond of seeing their women with long 
tails, at the same time dock their horses to the very rump! ! ! 

But you may easily guess, that I am no ways displeased with a 
fashion which tends to increase a demand for the commodities of 
the East, and is so very beneficial to the country in which I was 
bom. Nothing can be better calculated to increase the price of 
silk than the present manner of dressing. A lady's train is not 
bought but at some expense, and after it has swept the public walks 
for a very few evenings, is fit to be worn no longer : more silk must be 
bought in order to repair the breach, and some ladies of peculiar 
economy are thus found to patch up their tails eight or ten times in 
a season. This unnecessary consumption may introduce poverty 
here, but then we shall be the richer for it in China. 

The man in black, who is a professed enemy to this manner of 
ornamenting the tail, assures me, there are numberless inconve- 
niences attending it, and that a lady dressed up to the fashion is as 
much a cripple as any in Nankin. But his chief indignation is 
levelled at those who dress in this manner without a proper fortune 
to support it. He assures me, that he has known some who would 
have a tail though they wanted a petticoat ; and others, who, without 
any other pretensions, fancied they became ladies, merely from the 
addition of three superfluous yards of ragged silk: — "I know a 
thrifty good woman," continues he, "who thinking herself obliged 
to carry a train like her betters, never walks from home without the 
uneasy apprehension of wearing it out too soon: every exciu-sion 
she makes, gives her new anxiety; and her train is every bit as impor- 
tunate, and woimds her peace as much as the bladder we sometimes 
see tied to the tail of a cat." 

Nay, he ventures to afl&rm, that a train may often bring a lady 

into the most critical circumstances: "for, should a rude fellow," 

says he, "offer to come up to ravish a kiss, and the lady attempt to 

avoid it, in retiring she must necessarily tread upon her train, and 

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CITIZEN OF THE WORLD 

thus fall fairly upon her back; by which means, every one knows, — 
her clothes may be spoiled." 

The ladies here make no scruple to laugh at the smallness of a 
Chinese slipper, but I fancy our wives at China would have a more 
real cause of laughter, could they but see the immoderate length of 
a European train. Head of Confucius! to view a human being 
crippling herself with a great unwieldy tail for our diversion ! Back- 
ward she cannot go, forward she must move but slowly; and if 
ever she attempts to turn round, it must be in a circle not smaller 
than that described by the wheeling crocodile, when it would face 
an assailant. And yet to think that all this confers importance and 
majesty ! to think that a lady acquires additional respect from fifteen 
yards of trailing taffety ! I cannot contain — ha ! ha ! ha ! this is 
certainly a remnant of European barbarity: the female Tartar, 
dressed in sheep skins, is in far more convenient drapery. Their 
own writers have sometimes inveighed against the absurdity of 
this fashion, but perhaps it has never been ridiculed so well as upon 
the Italian theatre, where Pasquariello being engaged to attend on 
the Countess of Femambroco, having one of his hands employed 
in carrying her muff, and the other her lap-dog, he bears her train 
majestically along, by sticking it in the waistband of his breeches ! 
Adieu. 



LETTER LXXXVI 

To the Same 

THE RACES OF NEWMARKET RIDICULED. DESCRIPTION OF A CART 
RACE 

OF all the places of amusement where gentlemen and ladies 
are entertained, I have not been yet to visit Newmarket. 
This, I am told, is a large field, where, upon certain occasions, 
three or four horses are brought together, then set a-running, and 
that horse which runs fastest wins the wager. 

This is reckoned a very polite and fashionable amusement here, 
much more followed by the nobility than partridge fighting at Java, 
or paper kites in Madagascar. Several of the great here, I am told, 
imderstand as much of farriery as their grooms; and a horse, with 
any share of merit, can never want a patron among the nobility. 
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CITIZEN OF THE WORLD 

We have a description of this entertainment almost every day 
in some of the gazettes, as for instance: "On such a day the Give 
and Take Plate was rim for between his Grace's Crab, his Lord- 
ship's Periwinkle, and 'Squire Smackem's Slamerkin. All rode 
their own horses. There was the greatest concourse of nobility 
that has been known here for several seasons. The odds were in 
favour of Crab in the beginning; but Slamerkin, after the first heat, 
seemed to have the match hollow; however, it was soon seen that 
Periwinkle improved in wind, which at last turned out accordingly; 
Crab was run to a stand still, Slamerkin was knocked up, and Peri- 
winkle was brought in with universal applause." Thus, you see, 
Periwinkle received universal applause, and, no doubt, his lord- 
ship came in for some share of that praise which was so liberally 
bestowed upon Periwinkle. Sun of China! how glorious must the 
senator appear in his cap and leather breeches, his whip crossed 
in his mouth, and thus coming to the goal, amongst the shouts of 
grooms, jockeys, pimps, stable-bred dukes, and degraded generals! 

From the description of this princely amusement, now tran- 
scribed, and from the great veneration I have for the characters 
of its principal promoters, I make no doubt but I shall look upon 
a horse-race with becoming reverence, predisposed as I am by a 
similar amusement, of which I have lately been a spectator; for 
just now I happened to have an opportunity of being present at 
a cart race. 

Whether this contention between three carts of different parishes 
was promoted by a subscription among the nobility, or whether 
the grand jury, in council assembled, had gloriously combined to 
encourage plaustral merit, I cannot take upon me to determine; 
but certain it is, the whole was conducted with the utmost regularity 
and decorum, and the company, which made a brilliant appearance, 
were imiversally of opinion, that the sport was high, the rvmning 
fine, and the riders influenced by no bribe. 

It was run on the road from London, to a village called Brent- 
ford, bet^veen a turnip-cart, a dust-cart, and a dung-cart; each of 
the owners condescending to mount, and be his own driver. The 
odds, at starting, were Dust against Dung, five to four; but, after 
half a mile's going, the knowing ones found themselves all on the 
wrong side, and it was Turnip against the field, brass to silver. 

Soon, however, the contest became more doubtful; Turnip indeed 
kept the way, but it was perceived that Dung had better bottom, 
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CITIZEN OF THE WORLD 

The road re-echoed with the shouts of the spectators — " Dung 
against Turnip! Turnip against Dung!" was now the universal 
cry; neck and neck; one rode lighter, but the other had more judg- 
ment. I could not but particularly observe the ardour with which 
the fair sex espoused the cause of the different riders on this occa- 
sion ; one was charmed with the unwashed beauties of Dung; another 
was captivated with the patibulary aspect of Turnip; while, in the 
meantime, unfortunate gloomy Dust, who came whipping behind, 
was cheered by the encouragement of some, and pity of all. 

The contention now continued for some time, without a possi- 
bility of determining to whom victory designed the prize. The 
winning post appeared in view, and he who drove the turnip-cart 
assured himself of success; and successful he might have been, 
had his horse been as ambitious as he; but, upon approaching a 
turn from the road, which led homewards, the horse fairly stood 
still, and refused to move a foot farther. The dung-cart had 
scarce time to enjoy this temporary triumph, when it was pitched 
headlong into a ditch by the way-side, and the rider left to wallow 
in congenial mud. Dust, in the meantime, soon came up, and not 
being far from the post, came in, amidst the shouts and acclama- 
tions of all the spectators, and greatly caressed by all the quality 
of Brentford. Fortune was kind only to one, who ought to have 
been favourable to all; each had peculiar merit, each laboured hard 
to earn the prize, and each richly deserved the cart he drove. 

I do not know whether this description may not have anticipated 
that which I intended giving of Newmarket. I am told, there is 
little else to be seen even there. There may be some minute differ- 
ences in the dress of the spectators, but none at all in their under- 
standings: the quality of Brentford are as remarkable for polite- 
ness and delicacy as the breeders of Newmarket. The quality 
of Brentford drive their own carts, and the honourable fraternity 
of Newmarket ride their own horses. In short, the matches in 
one place are as rational as those in the other; and it is more than 
probable, that turnips, dust, and dung, are all that can be found 
to furnish out description in either. 

Forgive me, my friend; but a person like me, bred up in a philo- 
sophic seclusion, is apt to regard perhaps with too much asperity, 
those occurrences which sink man below his station in nature, and 
diminish the intrinsic value of humanity. Adieu. 

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CITIZEN OF THE WORLD 

LETTER LXXXVIII 
To the Same 

THE LADIES ADVISED TO GET HUSBANDS. A STORY TO THIS PURPOSE 

AS the instruction of the fair sex in this country is entirely com- 
mitted to the care of foreigners; as their language-masters, 
music-masters, hair-frizzers, and governesses, are all from abroad, 
I had some intentions of opening a female academy myself, and 
made no doubt, as I was quite a foreigner, of meeting a favourable 
reception. 

In this I intended to instruct the ladies in all the conjugal mys- 
teries; wives should be taught the art of managing husbands, and 
maids the skill of properly choosing them. I would teach a wife 
how far she might venture to be sick, without giving disgust; she 
should be acquainted with the great benefits of the cholic in the 
stomach, and all the thorough-bred insolence of fashion. Maids 
should learn the secret of nicely distinguishing every competitor; 
they should be able to know the difference between a pedant and 
a scholar, a citizen and a prig, a squire and his horse, a beau and his 
monkey; but chiefly, they should be taught the art of managing 
their smiles, from the contemptuous simper to the long laborious 
laugh. 

But I have discontinued the project; for what would signify 
teaching ladies the manner of governing or choosing husbands, 
when marriage is at present so much out of fashion, that a lady is 
very well off who can get any husband at all ? Celibacy now pre- 
vails in every rank of life ; the streets are crowded with old bachelors, 
and the houses with ladies who have refused good offers, and are 
never likely to receive any for the future. 

The only advice, therefore, I could give the fair sex, as things 
'stand at present, is to get husbands as fast as they can. There is 
certainly nothing in the whole creation, not even Babylon in ruins, 
more truly deplorable than a lady in the virgin bloom of sixty-three, 
or a battered unmarried beau, who squibs about from place to 
place, showing his pigtail wig and his ears. The one appears to my 
imagination in the form of a double nightcap, or a roll of pomatum; 
the other in the shape of an electuary, or a box of pills. 

I would once more, therefore, advise the ladies to get husbands. 

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I would desire them not to discard an old lover without very sufficient 
reasons, nor treat the new with ill-nature till they know him false; 
let not prudes allege the falseness of the sex, coquettes the pleasures 
of long courtship, or parents the necessary preliminaries of penny 
for penny. I have reasons that would silence even a casuist in this 
particular. In the first place, therefore, I divide the subject into 
fifteen heads, and then, sic argumentor, — But, not to give you and 
myself the spleen, be contented at present with an Indian tale : — 

[the man-fish.!] 

In a winding of the river Amidar, just before it falls into the 
Caspian Sea, there lies an island unfrequented by the inhabitants 
of the continent. In this seclusion, blest with all that wild unculti- 
vated nature could bestow, lived a princess and her two daughters. 
She had been wrecked upon the coast while her children as yet 
were infants, who, of consequence, though grown up, were entirely 
unacquainted with man. Yet, inexperienced as the young ladies 
were in the opposite sex, both early discovered symptoms, the one 
of prudery, the other of being a coquette. The eldest was ever 
learning maxims of wisdom and discretion from her mamma, 
while the youngest employed all her hours in gazing at her own face 
in a neighbouring fountain. 

Their usual amusement in this solitude was fishing. Their 
mother had taught them all the secrets of the art; she showed them 
which were the most likely places to throw out the line, what baits 
were most proper for the various seasons, and the best man- 
ner to draw up the finny prey, when they had hooked it. In this 
manner they spent their time, easy and innocent, tiU one day, the 
Princess being indisposed, desired them to go and catch her a 
stiirgeon or a shark for supper, which she fancied might sit easy 
on her stomach. The daughters obeyed, and clapping on a gold fish, 
the usual bait on those occasions, went and sat upon one of the 
rocks, letting the gilded hook glide down with the stream. 

On the opposite shore, farther down, at the mouth of the river, 
lived a diver for pearls, a youth who, by long habit in his trade, 
was almost grown amphibious ; so that he could remain whole hours 
at the bottom of the water, without ever fetching breath. He hap- 
pened to be at that very instant diving when the ladies were fishing 
with the gilded hook. Seeing therefore the bait, which to him had 

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the appearance of real gold, he was resolved to seize the prize, 
but both his hands being already filled with pearl oysters, he found 
himself obliged to snap at it with his mouth. The consequence is 
easily imagined; the hook, before un perceived, was instantly 
fastened in his jaw, nor could he, with all his efforts, or his flounder- 
ing, get free. 

"Sister," cries the youngest Princess, "I have certainly caught 
a monstrous fish; I never perceived any thing struggle so at the 
end of my line before; come and help me to draw it in." They 
both now, therefore, assisted in fishing up the diver on shore; but 
nothing could equal their surprise on seeing him. " Bless my eyes ! " 
cries the prude, "what have we got here ? this is a very odd fish to be 
sure; I never saw anything in my life look so queer: what eyes, 
what terrible claws, what a monstrous snout! I have read of this 
monster somewhere before — it certainly must be a tanlang, that 
eats women ; let us throw it back again into the sea where we found 
it." 

The diver, in the meantime, stood upon the beach at the end of 
the line, with the hook in his mouth, using every art that he thought 
could best excite pity, and particularly looking extremely tender, 
which is usual in such circumstances. The coquette, therefore, in 
some measure influenced by the innocence of his looks, ventured to 
contradict her companion. "Upon my word, sister," says she, "I 
see nothing in the animal so very terrible as you are pleased to appre- 
hend; I think it may serve well enough for a change. Always 
sharks, and sturgeons, and lobsters, and crawfish, make me quite 
sick. I fancy a slice of this, nicely grilled, and dressed up with 
shrimp sauce, would be very pretty eating. I fancy mamma would 
like a bit with pickles above all things in the world; and if it should 
not sit easy on her stomach, it will be time enough to discontinue 
it when foimd disagreeable, you know." — "Horrid!" cries the 
prude, "would the girl be poisoned? I tell you it is a tanlang; I 
have read of it in twenty places. It is everywhere described as 
being the most pernicious animal that ever infested the ocean. I am 
certain it is the most insidious ravenous creature in the world, and 
is certain destruction if taken internally." The youngest sister 
was now therefore obliged to submit: both assisted in drawing the 
hook with some violence from the diver's jaw ; and he, finding him- 
self at liberty, beat his breast against the broad wave, and disap- 
peared in an instant. 

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Just at this juncture the mother came down to the beach, 
to know the cause of her daughters' delay; they told her every cir- 
cumstance, describing the monster they had caught. The old 
lady was one of the most discreet women in the world; she was 
called the Black -eyed Princess, from two black eyes she had received 
in her youth, being a little addicted to boxing in her liquor. " Alas, 
my children," cries she, "what have you done! the fish you caught 
was a man-fish; one of the most tame domestic animals in the 
world. We could have let him run and play about the garden, and 
he would have been twenty times more entertaining than our 
squirrel or monkey." — "If that be all," says the young coquette, 
"we will fish for him again. If that be all, I'll hold three toothpicks 
to one pound of snuff, I catch him whenever I please." Accordingly 
they threw in their line once more ; but with all their gilding, and 
paddling, and assiduity, they could never after catch the diver. In 
this state of solitude and disappointment, they continued for many 
years, still fishing, but without success; till at last the Genius of 
the place, in pity to their distresses, changed the prude into a 
shrimp, and the coquette into an oyster. Adieu. 



LETTER XC 

To the Same 

THE ENGLISH SUBJECT TO THE SPLEEN 

WHEN the men of this country are once turned of thirty they 
regularly retire every year, at proper intervals, to lie in of 
the spleen. The vulgar, unfurnished with the luxurious comforts 
of the soft cushion, down bed, and easy chair, are obliged, when the 
fit is on them, to nurse it up by drinking, idleness, and ill-humour. 
In such dispositions, unhappy is the foreigner who happens to cross 
them; his long chin, tarnished coat, or pinched hat, are sure to 
receive no quarter. If they meet no foreigner, however, to fight 
with, they are, in such cases, generally content with beating each 
other. 

The rich, as they have more sensibility, are operated upon with 

greater violence by this disorder. Different from the poor, instead 

of becoming more insolent, they grow totally unfit for opposition. 

A general here, who would have faced a culverin when well, if the 

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fit be on him, shall hardly find courage to snuff a candle. An 
admiral, who could have opposed a broadside without shrinking, 
shall sit whole days in his chamber, mobbed up in double nightcaps, 
shuddering at the intrusive breeze, and distinguishable from his wife 
only by his black beard and heavy eyebrows. 

In the country, this disorder mostly attacks the fair sex; in town, 
it is most unfavourable to the men. A lady, who has pined whole 
years amidst cooing doves and complaining nightingales, in rural 
retirement, shall resume all her vivacity in one night at a city 
gaming-table; her husband, who roared, hunted, and got drunk at 
home, shall grow splenetic in town in proportion to his wife's good 
humour. Upon their arrival in London, they exchange their dis- 
orders. In consequence of her parties and excursions, he puts 
on the furred cap and scarlet stomacher, and perfectly resembles 
an Indian husband, who, when his wife is safely delivered, permits 
her to transact business abroad, while he undergoes all the formality 
of keeping his bed, and receiving all the condolence in her place. 

But those who reside constantly in town, owe this disorder mostly 
to the influence of the weather. It is impossible to describe what a 
variety of transmutations an east wind shall produce; it has been 
known to change a lady of fashion into a parlour couch ; an alderman 
into a plate of custard; and a dispenser of justice into a rat-trap. 
Even philosophers themselves are not exempt from its influence; 
it has often converted a poet into a coral and bells, and a patriot 
senator into a dumb waiter. 

Some days ago I went to visit the man in black, and entered his 
house with that cheerfulness which the certainty of a favourable 
reception always inspires. Upon opening the door of his apart- 
ment, I found him with the most rueful face imaginable, in a morn- 
ing gown and flannel nightcap, earnestly employed in learning to 
blow the German flute. Struck with the absurdity of a man in the 
decline of life thus blowing away all his constitution and spirits, 
even without the consolation of being musical, I ventured to ask 
what could induce him to attempt learning so difficult an instrument 
so late in life ? To this he made no reply, but groaning, and still 
holding the flute to his lips, continued to gaze at me for some mo- 
ments very angrily, and then proceeded to practise his gamut aS 
before. After having produced a variety of the most hideous tones 
in nature, at last turning to me, he demanded, whether I did not 
think he had made a surprising progress in two days? "You see»" 



CITIZEN OF THE WORLD 

continues he, " I have got theambusheer already ; and as for fingering, 
my master tells me, I shall have that in a few lessons more." I was 
so much astonished with this instance of inverted ambition, that I 
knew not what to reply, but soon discerned the cause of all his 
absurdities : my friend was under a metamorphosis by the power of 
spleen, and flute-blowing was imluckily become his adventitious 
passion. 

In order, therefore, to banish his anxiety imperceptibly, by seem- 
ing to indulge it, I began to descant on those gloomy topics by 
which philosophers often get rid of their own spleen, by communi- 
cating it: the wretchedness of a man in this life; the happiness of 
some wrought out of the miseries of others; the necessity that 
wretches should expire under punishment, that rogues might enjoy 
affluence in tranquillity: I led him on from the inhumanity of the 
rich to the ingratitude of the beggar; from the insincerity of refine- 
ment to the fierceness of rusticity; and at last had the good fortune 
to restore him to his usual serenity of temper, by permitting him to 
expatiate upon all the modes of human misery, 

"Some nights ago," says my friend, "sitting alone by my fire, 
I happened to look into an accoimt of the detection of a set of men 
called the thief-takers. I read over the many hideous cruelties of 
those haters of mankind, of their pretended friendship to wretches 
they meant to betray, of their sending men out to rob, and then 
hanging them. I could not avoid sometimes interrupting the narra- 
tive, by crying out, 'Yet these are men!' As I went on, I was 
informed that they had lived by this practice several years, and had 
been enriched by the price of blood: 'And yet,' cried I, 'I have been 
sent into this world, and am desired to call these men my brothers!' 
I read, that the very man who led the condemned wretch to the 
gallows, was he who falsely swore his life away; 'and yet,' continued 
I, 'that perjurer had just such a nose, such lips, such hands, and 
such eyes, as Newton !' I at last came to the account of the wretch 
that was searched after robbing one of the thief-takers of half-a- 
crown. Those of the confederacy knew that he had got but that 
single half-crown in the world; after a long search, therefore, which 
they knew would be fruitless, and taking from him the half-crown, 
which they knew was all he had, one of the gang compassionately 
cried out, 'Alas! poor creature, let him keep all the rest he has got, 
it will do him service in Newgate, where we are sending him.' This 
was an instance of such complicated guilt and hypocrisy, that I 
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threw down the book in an agony of rage, and began to thmk with 
malice of all the human kind. I sat silent for some minutes, and 
soon perceiving the ticking of my watch beginning to grow noisy 
and troublesome, I quickly placed it out of hearing, and strove to 
resume my serenity. But the watchmen soon gave me a second 
alarm. I had scarcely recovered from this, when my peace was 
assaulted by the wind at my window ; and when that ceased to blow, 
I listened for death-watches in the wainscot. I now found my 
whole system discomposed. I strove to find a resource in philos- 
ophy and reason; but what could I oppose, or where direct my 
blow, when I could see no enemy to combat? I saw no misery 
approaching, nor knew any I had to fear, yet still I was miserable. 
Morning came, I sought for tranquillity in dissipation, saimtered 
from one place of public resort to another, but foimd myself dis- 
agreeable to my acquaintance, and ridiculous to others. I tried 
at different times dancing, fencing, and riding; I solved geometrical 
problems, shaped tobacco-stoppers, wrote verses, and cut paper. 
At last I placed my affections on music, and find, that earnest em- 
ployment, if it cannot cure, at least will palliate every anxiety." 
Adieu 

LETTER XCI 

To the Same 

THE INFLUENCE OF CLIMATE AND SOIL UPON THE TEMPERS AND DIS- 
POSITIONS OF THE ENGLISH. [tHE ENGLISH-MAN] 

IT is no unpleasing contemplation, to consider the influence 
which soil and climate have upon the disposition of the inhabi- 
tants, the animals, and vegetables, of different countries. That 
among the brute creation is much more visible than in man, and 
that in vegetables more than either. In some places, those plants 
which are entirely poisonous at home lose their deleterious quality 
by being carried abroad: there are serpents in Macedonia so harm- 
less as to be used as playthings for children ; and we are told, that 
in some parts of Fez, there are lions so very timorous as to be scared, 
though coming in herds, by the cries of women. 

I know of no country where the influence of climate and soil is 
more visible than in England; the same hidden cause which gives 
courage to their dogs and cocks, gives also a fierceness to their men. 
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But chiefly this ferocity appears among the vulgar. The polite of 
every country pretty nearly resemble each other. But, as in sim- 
pling, it is among the uncultivated productions of nature we are to 
examine the characteristic differences of climate and soil, so in an 
estimate of the genius of the people, we must look among the sons 
of unpolished rusticity. The vulgar English, therefore, may be 
easily distinguished from all the rest of the world, by superior pride, 
impatience, and a peculiar hardiness of soul. 

Perhaps no qualities in the world are more susceptible of a finer 
polish than these; artificial complaisance, and easy deference, being 
superinduced over these, generally forms a great character; some- 
thing at once elegant and majestic, affable, yet sincere. Such, in 
general, are the better sort; but they who are left in primitive rude- 
ness, are the least disposed for society with others, or comfort inter- 
nally, of any people under the sun. 

The poor, indeed, of every country, are but little prone to treat 
each other with tenderness; their own miseries are too apt to engross 
all their pity; and perhaps, too, they give but little commiseration, 
as they find but little from others. But, in England, the poor treat 
each other upon every occasion with more than savage animosity, 
and as if they were in a state of open war by nature. In China, 
if t\vo porters should meet in a narrow street, they would lay down 
their burthens, make a thousand excuses to each other for the acci- 
dental interruption, and beg pardon on their knees; if two men of 
the same occupation should meet here, they would first begin to 
scold, and at last to beat each other. One would think they had 
miseries enough resulting from penury and labour, not to increase 
them by ill-nature among themselves, and subjection to new penal- 
ties; but such considerations never weigh with them. 

But to recompense this strange absurdity, they are in the main 
generous, brave, and enterprising. They feel the slightest injuries 
with a degree of ungovemed impatience, but resist the greatest 
calamities with surprising fortitude. Those miseries under which 
any other people in the world would sink, they have often showed 
they were capable of enduring ; if accidentally cast upon some deso- 
late coast, their perseverance is beyond what any other nation is 
capable of sustaining; if imprisoned for crimes, their efforts to 
escape are greater than among others. The peculiar strength of 
their prisons, when compared to those elsewhere, argues their hardi- 
ness; even the strongest prisons I have ever seen in other countries, 
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CITIZEN OF THE WORLD 

would be very insufl&cient to confine the untameable spirit of an 
Englishman. In short, what man dares do in circumstances of 
danger, an Englishman will. His virtues seem to sleep in the calm, 
and are called out only to combat the kindred storm. 

But the greatest eulogy of this people is the generosity of their 
miscreants; the tenderness, in general, of their robbers and high- 
waymen. Perhaps no people can produce instances of the same 
kind, where the desperate mix pity with injustice; still show that 
they understand a distinction in crimes, and, even in acts of vio- 
lence, have still some tincture of remaining virtue. In every other 
country, robbery and murder go almost always together; here, it 
seldom happens, except upon ill-judged resistance or pursuit. The 
banditti of other coim tries are unmerciful to a supreme degree; 
the highwayman and robber here are generous, at least, in their 
intercourse among each other. Taking, therefore, my opinion of 
the English from the virtues and vices practised among the vulgar, 
they at once present to a stranger all their faults, and keep their 
virtues up only for the enquiring eye of a philosopher. 

Foreigners are generally shocked at their insolence upon first 
coming among them: they find themselves ridiculed and insulted 
in every street; they meet with none of those trifling civilities, so 
frequent elsewhere, which are instances of mutual good-will, with- 
out previous acquaintance; they travel through the country, either 
too ignorant or too obstinate to cultivate a closer acquaintance ; meet 
every moment something to excite their disgust, and return home 
to characterize this as the region of spleen, insolence, and iU-nature. 
In short, England would be the last place in the world I would 
travel to by way of amusement, but the first for instruction. I 
would choose to have others for my acquaintance, but Englishmen 
for my friends. 

LETTER XCVI 

To the Same 

THE CONDOLENCE AND CONGRATULATION UPON THE DEATH OF THE 
LATE KING RIDICULED. ENGLISH MOURNING DESCRIBED 

THE manner of grieving for our departed friends in China, is 
very different from that of Europe. The movuning color of 
Europe is black; that of China white. When a parent or relation 
dies here — for they seldom mouni for friends — it is only clap- 

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ping on a suit of sables, grimacing it for a few daj's, and all, soon 
forgotten, goes on as before; not a single creature missing the de- 
ceased, except, perhaps a favourite housekeeper, or a favourite cat. 

On the contrary, with us in China it is a very seriou5^ affair, "'he 
piety with which I have seen you behave, on one of these occasions, 
should never be forgotten. I remember it was upon the death of 
thy grandmother's maiden sister. The coffin was exposed in the 
principal hall, in public view. Before it were placed the figures of 
eimuchs, horses, tortoises, and other animals, in attitudes of grief 
and respect. The more distant relations of the old lady, and I 
among the number, came to pay our compliments of condolence, 
and to salute the deceased, after fhe manner of our country. We 
had scarce presented our wax candles and perfumes, and given the 
howl of departure, when, crawling on his belly from under a cur- 
tain, out came the reverend Fum Hoam himself, in all the dismal 
solemnity of distress. Your looks were set for sorrow ; your cloth- 
ing consisted of a hempen bag tied round the neck with a string. 
For two long months did this mourning continue. By night, you 
lay stretched on a single mat, and sat on the stool of discontent by 
day. Pious man ! who could thus set an example of sorrow and de- 
corum to our coxmtry. Pious country! where, if we do not grieve 
at the departiure of our friends for their sakes, at least we are taught 
to regret them for our own. 

All is very different here ; amazement all ! What sort of people 
am I got amongst? Fum, thou son of Fo, what sort of people am 
I got amongst? No crawling round the cofl&n; no dressing up in 
hempen bags; no lying on mats, or sitting on stools! Gentlemen 
here shall put on first mourning, with as sprightly an air as if pre- 
paring for a birth-night; and widows shall actually dress for an- 
other husband in their weeds for the former. The best jest of all 
is, that our merry mourners clap bits of muslin on their sleeves, and 
these are called weepers. Weeping muslin ! alas ! alas ! very sor- 
rowful truly! These weepers, then, it seems, are to bear the whole 
burthen of the distress. 

But I have had the strongest instance of this contrast, this tragi- 
comical beha\iour in distress, upon a recent occasion. Their king, 
whose departure, though sudden, was not unexpected, died after a 
reign of many years. His age, and uncertain state of health, served, 
in some measure, to diminish the sorrow of his subjects; and their 
expectations from his successor seemed to balance their minds be- 

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tween uneasiness and satisfaction. But how ought they to have 
behaved on such an occasion? Surely, they ought rather to have 
endeavoured to testify their gratitude to their deceased friend, than 
to proclaim their hopes of the future! Sure, even the successor 
must suppose their love to wear the face of adulation, which so 
quickly changed the object ! However, the ven- same day on which 
the old king died, they made rejoicing for the new! 

For my part, I have no conception of this new manner of mourn- 
ing and rejoicing in a breath; of being meny and sad; of mixing 
a funeral procession with a jig and a bonfire. At least, it would 
have been just, that they who flattered the king, while li^'ing, for 
%-irtues which he had not, should lament him dead, for those he 
really had. 

In this vmiversal cause for national distress, as I had no interest 
m}-self, so it is but natural to suppose I felt no real affiction. "In 
aU the losses of our friends," sa}-s a European philosopher, "we 
first consider how much our own welfare is affected by their depar- 
ture, and moderate our real grief, just in the same proportion." 
Now, as I had neither received, nor expected to receive, favours from 
kings or their flatterers ; as I had no acquaintance in particular with 
their late monarch; as I knew that the place of a king is soon 
supplied; and, as the Chinese proverb has it, that though the world 
may sometimes want cobblers to mend their shoes, there is no 
danger of its wanting emperors to rule their kingdoms; from such 
considerations, I could bear the loss of a king with the most philoso- 
phic resignation. However, I thought it my duty at least to appear 
sorro-w^ul; to put on a melancholy aspect, or to set my face by that 
of the people. 

The first company I came amongst, after the news became general, 
was a set of jolly companions, who were drinking prosperit}' to the 
ensuing reign. I entered the room with looks of despair, and even 
expected applause for the superlative miser}' of my countenance. 
Instead of that, I was \miversally condemned by the company for a 
grimacing son of a whore, and desired to take away my penitential 
phiz to some other quarter. I now corrected my former mistake, 
and, with the most sprightiy air imaginable, entered a company, 
where they were talking over the ceremonies of the approaching 
fimeral. Here I sat for some time with an air of pert %ivacity; 
when one of the chief mourners immediately observing my good 
humour, desired me, if I pleased, to go and grin somewhere else; 
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they wanted no disaffected scoundrels there. Leaving this company, 
therefore, I was resolved to assume a look perfectly neutral: and 
have ever since been studying the fashionable air; something 
between jest and earnest; a complete virginity of face, uncontam- 
inated with the smallest symptom of meaning. 

But though grief be a very slight affair here, the mourning, my 
friend, is a very important concern. WTien an emperor dies in 
China, the whole expense of the solemnities is defrayed from the 
royal coffers. \\Taen the great die here, mandarines are ready 
enough to order mourning; but I do not see that they are so ready 
to pay for it. If they send me down from court the grey undress 
frock, or the black coat without pocket-holes, I am willing enough 
to comply with their commands, and wear both; but, by the head 
of Confucius! to be obliged to w^ear black, and buy it into the 
bargain, is more than my tranquillity of temper can bear. What! 
order me to wear mourning before they know whether I can buy it 
or no ! Fum, thou son of Fo, what sort of a people am I got amongst ? 
where being out of black is a certain symptom of poverty; where 
those who have miserable faces cannot have mourning, and those 
who have mourning will not wear a miserable face ! [Adieu.[] 



LETTER XCVIII 

To the Same 

A DESCRIPTION OF THE COURTS OF JUSTICE IN WESTMINSTER HALL 

I HAD some intentions lately of going to visit Bedlam, the place 
where those who go mad are confined. I went to wait upon 
the man in black to be my conductor, but I found him preparing to 
go to Westminster-hall, where the English hold their courts of justice. 
It gave me some surprise to find my friend engaged in a law-suit, 
but more so when he informed me that it had been depending for 
several years. "How is it possible," cried I, " for a man who knows 
the world to go to law ? I am well acquainted with the courts of 
justice in China: they resemble rat-traps every one of them; nothing 
more easy than to get in, but to get out again is attended with 
some difficulty, and more cunning than rats are generally found to 
possess ' " 

" Faith," replied my friend, " I should not have gone to law but that 
I was assured of success before I began ; things were presented to me 

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in so alluring a light, that I thought by barely declaring myself a 
candidate for the prize, I had nothing more to do but to enjoy the 
fruits of the \'ictory. Thus have I been upon the eve of an imaginary 
triumph every term these ten years; have travelled fon\'ard with 
victory ever in my view, but ever out of reach; however, at present, 
I fancy we have hampered our antagonist in such a manner, that, 
without some unforeseen demur, we shall this very day lay him 
fairly on his back." 

"If things be so situated," said I, "I do not care if I attend you 
to the courts, and partake in the pleasure of your success. But 
prithee," continued I, as we set forward, "what reasons have you 
to think an affair at last concluded, which has given you so many 
former disappointments?" — "My lawyer tells me," returned he, 
"that I have Salkeld and Ventris strong in my favour, and that 
there are no less than fifteen cases in point." — "I understand," 
said I, "those are two of your judges who have already declared 
their opinions." — "Pardon me," replied my friend, "Salkeld and 
Ventris are lawyers who some hundred years ago gave their opinions 
on cases similar to mine; these opinions, which make for me, my 
lawyer is to cite; and those opinions which look another way are 
cited by the lawyer employed by my antagonist: as I observed, I 
have Salkeld and Ventris for me; he has Coke and Hales for him; 
and he that has most opinions is most likely to carry his cause." 
— "But where is the necessity," cried I, "of prolonging a suit by 
citing the opinions and reports of others, since the same good sense 
which determined lawyers in former ages, may serve to guide your 
judges at this day? They at that time gave their opinions only 
from the light of reason ; your judges have the same light at present 
to direct them; let me even add, a greater, as in former ages there 
were many prejudices from which the present is happily free. If 
arguing from authorities be exploded from every other branch of 
learning, why should it be particularly adhered to in this? I 
plainly foresee how such a method of investigation must embarrass 
every suit, and even perplex the student; ceremonies will be multi- 
plied, formalities must increase, and more time will thus be spent in 
learning the arts of litigation, than in the discovery of right." 

"I see," cries my friend, "that you are for a speedy administra- 
tion of justice ; but all the world will grant, that the more time that is 
taken up in considering any subject, the better it will be imderstood. 
Besides, it is the boast of an Englishman, that his property is secure, 
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and aU the world will grant, that a deliberate administration of jus- 
tice is the best way to secure his property. Why have we so many 
lawyers, but to secure our property ? why so many formalities, but to 
secure our property ? Not less than one hundred thousand families 
live in opulence, elegance, and ease, merely by securingour property." 

"To embarrass justice," returned I, "by a multiplicity of laws, 
or to hazard it by a confidence in our judges, are, I grant, the oppo- 
site rocks on which legislative wisdom has ever split : in one case, the 
client resembles that emperor, who is said to have been suffocated 
with the bed-clothes which were only designed to keep him warm; 
in the other, to that towTi which let the enemy take possession of its 
walls, in order to show the world how little they depended upon aught 
but courage for safety. — But, bless me ! what numbers do I see 
here* — all in black! — how is it possible that half this multitude 
can find employment?" — "Nothing so easily conceived," returned 
my companion; "they live by watching each other. For instance, 
the catchpole watches the man in debt, the attorney watches the 
catchpole, the coimsellor watches the attorney, the solicitor the 
counsellor, and all find sufficient employment." — "I conceive you," 
interrupted I, " they watch each other, but it is the client that pays 
them all for watching; it puts me in mmd of a Chinese fable, which 
is entitled. Five Animals at a Meal. — 

"A grasshopper, filled with dew, was merrily singing under a 
shade; a whangam, that eats grasshoppers, had marked it for its 
prey, and was just stretching forth to devour it; a serpent, that had 
for a long time fed only on whangams, was coiled up to fasten on 
the whangam; a yellow bird was just upon the wing to dart upon 
the serpent; a hawk had just stooped from above to seize the yel- 
low bird; all were intent on their prey, and unmindful of their dan- 
ger: so the whangam ate the grasshopper, the serpent ate the whan- 
gam, the yellow bird the serpent, and the hawk the yellow bird; 
when, sousing from on high, a vulture gobbled up the hawk, grass- 
hopper, whangam, and all in a moment." 

I had scarce finished my fable, when the lawyer came to inform 
my friend, that his cause was put off till another term, that money 
was wanted to retain, and that all the world was of opinion, that 
the very next hearing would bring him off victorious. "If so, then," 
cries my friend, "I believe it will be my wisest way to continue the 
cause for another term; and, in the meantime, my friend here and 
I will go and see Bedlam." Adieu. 

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CITIZEN OF. THE WORLD 

LETTER XCIX 

To the Same 

A VISIT FROM THE LITTLE BEAU. THE INDULGENCE WITH WHICH 
THE FAIR SEX ARE TREATED IN SEVERAL PARTS OF ASIA 

I LATELY received a visit from the little beau, who, I foimd, 
had assumed a new flow of spirits with a new suit of clothes. 
Our discourse happened to turn upon the different treatment of 
the fair sex here and in Asia, with the influence of beauty in 
refining our manners, and improving our conversation. 

I soon perceived he was strongly prejudiced in favour of the Asia- 
tic method of treating the sex, and that it was impossible to persuade 
him, but that a man was happier who had foiu" wives at his com- 
mand, than he who had only one. " It is true," cries he, " your men 
of fashion in the East are slaves, and under some terrors of having 
their throats squeezed by a bow-string; but what then? they can 
find ample consolation in a seraglio; they make, indeed, an indiffer- 
ent figiire in conversation abroad, but then they have a seraglio to 
console them at home. I am told they have no balls, drums, nor 
operas, but then they have got a seraglio; they may be deprived of 
wine and French cookery, but they have a seraglio: a seraglio — 
a seraglio, my dear creature, wipes off every inconvenience in the 
world ! 

" Besides, I am told, your Asiatic beauties are the most convenient 
women alive ; for they have no souls : positively there is nothing in 
nature I should like so much as ladies without souls; soul, here, is 
the utter ruin of half the sex. A girl of eighteen shaU have soul 
enough to spend a hundred pounds in the turning of a trump. Her 
mother shall have soul enough to ride a sweepstake match at a horse- 
race; her maiden aunt shall have soul enough to piurchase the fur- 
niture of a whole toy-shop; and others shall have soul enough to 
behave as if they had no souls at all." 

"With respect to the soul," interrupted I, "the Asiatics are much 
kinder to the fair sex than you imagine : instead of one soul, Fohi, 
the idol of China, gives every woman three; the Brahmins give 
them fifteen ; and even Mahomet himself nowhere excludes the sex 
from Paradise. Abulfeda reports, that an old woman one day im- 
portuning him to know what she ought to do in order to gain Para- 
dise — 'My good lady,' answered the prophet, 'old women never 

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get there.' — 'What! never get to Paradise?' returned the matron, 
in a fury, 'Never,' says he, 'for they always grow young by the 
way.' 

"No, Sir," continued I; "the men of Asia behave with more 
deference to the sex than you seem to imagine. As you of Europe 
say grace upon sitting down to dinner, so it is the custom in China 
to say grace when a man goes to bed to his wife." — "And may I 
die," returned my companion, "but a very pretty ceremony! for, 
seriously, Sir, I see no reason why a man should not be as grateful in 
one situation as in the other. Upon honoiu", I always find myself 
much more disposed to gratitude on the couch of a fine woman, 
than upon sitting down to a sirloin of beef." 

"Another ceremony," said I, resuming the conversation, "in 
favour of the sex, amongst us, is the bride's being allowed, after 
marriage, her three days oj freedom. During this interval, a thou- 
sand extravagances are practised by either sex. The lady is placed 
upon the nuptial bed, and numberless monkey tricks are played 
rovmd to divert her. One gentleman smells her perfumed hand- 
kerchief, another attempts to untie her garters, a third pulls off her 
shoe to play hunt the slipper, another pretends to be an idiot, and 
endeavours to raise a laugh by grimacing; in the meantime, the 
glass goes briskly about, till ladies, gentlemen, wife, husband, and 
all, are mixed together in one inundation of arrack punch." 

"Strike me dumb, deaf, and blind," cried my companion, "but 
very pretty! there's some sense in your Chinese ladies' condescen- 
sions! but, among us, you shall scarce find one of the whole sex that 
shall hold her good-humour for three days together. No later than 
yesterday, I happened to say some civil things to a citizen's wife of 
my acquaintance, not because I loved her, but because I had char- 
ity; and what do you think was the tender creature's reply? Only 
that she detested my pig-tail wig, high-heeled shoes, and sallow 
complexion ! That is all. Nothing more ! — Yes, by the heavens, 
though she was more ugly than an unpainted actress, I found her 
more insolent than a thorough bred woman of quality!" 

He was proceeding in this wild manner, when his invective was 
interrupted by the man in black, who entered the apartment, intro- 
ducing his niece, a young lady of exquisite beauty. Her very ap- 
pearance was sufficient to silence the severest satirist of the sex; 
easy without pride, and free without impudence, she seemed capa- 
ble of supplying every sense with pleasure. Her looks, her conver- 

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sation, were natural and unconstrained; she had neither been taught 
to languish nor ogle, to laugh without a jest, or sigh without sorrow. 
I found that she had just returned from abroad, and had been con- 
versant in the manners of the world. Curiosity prompted me to 
ask several questions, but she declined them all. I own I never 
found myself so strongly prejudiced in favour of apparent merit 
before, and could willingly have prolonged our conversation, but the 
company after some time withdrew. Just, however, before the 
little beau took his leave, he called me aside, and requested I would 
change him a twenty pound bill ; which, as I was incapable of doing, 
he was contented with borrowing half-a-crown. Adieu. 



LETTER CII 

To the Same 

THE PASSION FOR GAMING AMONG LADIES RIDICULED 

THE ladies here are by no means such ardent gamesters as the 
women of Asia. In this respect I must do the English justice ; 
for I love to praise where applause is justly merited. Nothing [is] 
more common in China than to see two women of fashion continue 
gaming till one has won all the other's clothes, and stripped her 
quite naked; the winner thus marching off in a double suit of finery, 
and the loser shrinking behind in the primitive simplicity of nature. 

No doubt, you remember when Shang, our maiden aunt, played 
with a sharper. First her money went; then her trinkets were 
produced; her clothes followed, piece by piece, soon after; when 
she had thus played herself quite naked, being a woman of spirit, 
and willing to ptirsue her own, she staked her teeth: fortune was 
against her even here, and her teeth followed her clothes. At last 
she played for her left eye; and, oh! hard fate, this too she lost: 
however, she had the consolation of biting the sharper, for he never 
perceived that it was made of glass till it became his own. 

How happy, my friend, are the English ladies, who never rise to 
such an inordinance of passion ! Though the sex here are natiu-ally 
fond of games of chance, and are taught to manage games of skill 
from their infancy, yet they never pursue ill fortune with such 
amazing intrepidity. Indeed, I may entirely acquit them of ever 
playing — I mean of playing for their eyes or their teeth. 

It is true, they often stake their fortune, their beauty, health, and 
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reputations, at a gaming table. It even sometimes happens, that 
they play their husbands into a jail ; yet still they preserve a decorum 
unknown to our wives and daughters in China. I have been present 
at a rout in this country, where a woman of fashion, after losing 
her money, has sat writhing in all the agonies of bad luck ; and yet, 
after all, never once attempted to strip a single petticoat, or cover 
the board, as her last stake, with her head-clothes. 

However, though I praise their moderation at play, I must not 
conceal their assiduity. In China, our women, except upon some 
great days, are never permitted to finger a dice-box; but here every 
day seems to be a festival, and night itself, which gives others rest, 
only serves to increase the female gamester's industry. I have been 
told of an old lady in the country who, being given Over by the 
physicians, played with the curate of her parish to pass the time 
away: having won all his money, she next proposed playing for her 
funeral charges: her proposal was accepted; but unfortunately the 
lady expired just as she had taken in her game. 

There are some passions which, though differently pursued, are 
attended with equal consequences in every country: here they game 
with more perseverence, there with greater fury; here they strip 
their families, there they strip themselves naked. A lady in China 
who indulges a passion for gaming, often becomes a drunkard; and 
by flourishing a dice-box in one hand, she generally comes to 
brandish a dram-cup in the other. Far be it from me to say there 
are any who drink drams in England; but it is natural to suppose, 
that when a lady has lost every thing else but her honour, she will 
be apt to toss that into the bargain ; and, grown insensible to nicer 
feelings, behave like the Spaniard, who, when all his money was 
gone, endeavoured to borrow more, by offering to pawn his whisker. 
Adieu. 

LETTER CV 

To the Same 

THE INTENDED CORONATION DESCRIBED. [bEAU TIBBS ON THE 
PREPARATIONS FOR THE SHOW] 

THE time for the young king's coronation approaches. The 
great and the little world look forward with impatience. A 
knight from the country, who has brought up his family to see and 
be seen on this occasion, has taken all the lower part of the house 

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CITIZEN OF THE WORLD 

where I lodge. His wife is lapng in a large quantity of silks, 
which the mercer tells her are to be fashionable next season; and 
Miss, her daughter, has actually had her ears bored pre\^ous to the 
ceremony. In all this bustle of preparation, I am considered as mere 
lumber, and have been shoved up t\\'o stories higher, to make room 
for others my landlady seems perfectly convinced are my betters ; but 
whom, before me, she is contented with only calling very^ good company. 

The little beau, who has now forced himself into my intimacy, 
was yesterday gi\'ing me a most minute detail of the intended pro- 
cession. All men are eloquent upon their favourite topic; and this 
seemed peculiarly adapted to the size and turn of his understanding. 
His whole mind .was blazoned over with a variety of glittering 
images, — coronets, escutcheons, lace, fringe, tassels, stones, bugles, 
and spun glass. "Here," cried he, "Garter is to walk; and there 
Rouge Dragon marches with the escutcheons on his back. Here 
Clarencieux moves forward; and there Blue Mantle disdains to be 
left behind. Here the Aldermen march two and ts\'o; and there 
the undaunted Champion of England, no way terrified at the very 
numerous appearance of gentlemen and ladies, rides forvi^ard in 
complete armour, and, with an intrepid air, throws down his glove. 
Ah!" continued he, "should any be so hardy as to take up that 
fatal glove, and so accept the challenge, we should see fine sport; 
the Champion would show him no mercy ; he would soon teach him 
aU his passes, with a witness. However, I am afraid we shall have 
none willing to try with him upon the approaching occasion, for 
two reasons, — first, because his antagonist would stand a chance 
of being killed in the single combat; and, secondly, because if he 
escapes the Champion's arm, he would certainly be hanged for 
treason. No, no; I fancy none will be so hardy as to dispute it with 
a Champion like him, inured to arms ; and we shall probably see 
him prancing unmolested away, holding his bridle thus in one hand, 
and brandishing his dram-cup in the other." 

Some men have a manner of describing, which only wraps the 
subject in more than former obscurity; thus I was imable, with all 
my companion's volubility, to form a distinct idea of the intended 
procession. I was certain that the inauguration of a king should be 
conducted with solemnity and religious awe; and I coiild not be 
persuaded that there was much solemnity in this description. "If 
this be true," cried I to myself, " the people of Europe surely have 
a strange manner of mixing solemn and fantastic images together; 
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pictures, at once replete with burlesque and the sublime. At a 
time when the king enters into the most solemn compact with his 
people, nothing, surely, should be admitted to diminish from the 
real majesty of the ceremony. A ludicrous image, brought in at 
such a time, throws an air of ridicule upon the whole. It someway 
resembles a picture I have seen, designed by Albert Durer, where, 
amidst all the solemnity of that awful scene, a deity judging, and a 
trembling world awaiting the decree, he has introduced a merry 
mortal trundling his scolding wife to hell in a wheel-barrow." 

My companion, who mistook my silence, during this interval of 
reflection, for the rapture of astonishment, proceeded to describe 
those frivolous parts of the show that most struck his imagination; 
and to assiu-e me, that if I stayed in this country some months 
longer, I should see fine things. " For my own part," continued he, 
"I know already of fifteen suits of clothes, that would stand on one 
end with gold lace, all designed to be first shown there; and as for 
diamonds, rubies, emeralds, and pearls, we shall see them as thick 
as brass nails in a sedan chair. And then we are all to walk so 
majestically thus; this foot always behind the foot before. The 
ladies are to fling nosegays; the court poets to scatter verses; the 
spectators are to be all in full dress; Mrs. Tibbs in a new sack, 
ruffles, and Frenched hair: look where you wiU, one thing finer than 
another; Mrs. Tibbs curtsies to the Duchess; her Grace returns the 
compliment with a bow. 'Largess!' cries the Herald. 'Make 
room!' cries the Gentleman Usher. 'Knock him down!' cries the 
guard. Ah!" continued he, amazed at his own description, "what 
an astonishing scene of grandeur can Art produce from the smallest 
circumstance, when it thus actually turns to wonder one man putting 
on another man's hat!" 

I now found his mind was entirely set upon the fopperies of the 
pageant, and quite regardless of the real meaning of such costly 
preparations. "Pageants," says Bacon, "are pretty things; but 
we should rather study to make them elegant than expensive." 
Processions, cavalcades, and all that fund of gay frippery, furnished 
out by tailors, barbers, and tirewomen, mechanically influence the 
mind into veneration. An emperor in his nightcap would not meet 
with half the respect of an emperor with a glittering crown. Politics 
resemble religion; attempting to divest either of ceremony is the 
most certain method of bringing either into contempt. The weak 
must have their inducements to admiration as well as the wise; and 



CITIZEN OF THE WORLD 

it is the business of a sensible government to impress all ranks with 
a sense of subordination, whether this be effected by a diamond 
buckle, or a virtuous edict, a sumptuary law, or a glass necklace. 

This interval of reflection only gave my companion spirits to 
begin his description afresh; and, as a greater inducement to raise 
my cviriosity, he informed me of the vast sums that were given by 
the spectators for places. "That the ceremony must be fine," 
cries he, "is very evident from the fine price that is paid for seeing 
it. Several ladies have assvired me, they could willingly part with 
one eye rather than be prevented from looking on with the other. 
Come, come," continues he, "I have a friend, who, for my sake, 
will supply us with places at the most reasonable rates; I'll take 
care you shall not be imposed upon ; and he will inform you of the 
use, finery, rapture, splendour, and enchantment of the whole 
ceremony, better than I." 

Follies often repeated lose their absiirdity, and assume the appear- 
ance of reason. His arguments were so often and so strongly 
enforced, that I had actually some thoughts of becoming a spectator. 
We accordingly went together to bespeak a place; but guess my 
surprise when the man demanded a purse of gold for a single seat ! 
I could hardly believe him serious upon making the demand. 
"Prithee, friend," cried I, "after I have paid twenty pounds for 
sitting here an hour or two, can I bring a part of the coronation 
back?" — "No, Sir." — "How long can I live upon it, after I 
have come away?" — "Not long, Sir." — "Can a coronation 
clothe, feed, or fatten me?" — "Sir," replied the man, "you seem 
to be imder a mistake ; aU that you can bring away is the pleasure 
of having it to say, that you saw the coronation." — "Blast me!" 
cries Tibbs, "if that be all, there is no need of paying for that, since 
I am resolved to ha,ve that pleasure , whether I am there or no!" 

I am conscious, my friend, that this is but a very confused descrip- 
ton of the intended ceremony. You may object, that I neither 
settle rank, precedency, nor place; that I seem ignorant whether 
Gules walks before or behind Garter; that I have neither mentioned 
the dimensions of a lord's cap, nor measured the length of a lady's 
tail. I know your delight is in minute description: and this I am 
unhappily disqualified from furnishing; yet, upon the whole, I 
fancy it will be no way comparable to the magnificence of our late 
Emperor Whangti's procession, when he was married to the moon, 
at which Fum Hoam himself presided in person. Adieu. . 

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CITIZEN OF THE WORLD 

LETTER CXII 

To the Same 

AN ELECTION DESCRIBED 

THE English are at present employed in celebrating a feast, 
which becomes general every seventh year; the parliament 
of the nation being then dissolved, and another appointed to be 
chosen. This solemnity falls infinitely short of our Feast of the 
Lanterns in magnificence and splendour; it is also surpassed by 
others of the East in unanimity and pure devotion; but no festival 
in the world can compare with it for eating. Their eating, indeed, 
amazes me. Had I five hundred heads, and were each head fur- 
nished with brains, yet would they all be insufficient to compute 
the number of cows, pigs, geese, and turkeys, which, upon this 
occasion, die for the good of their country! 

To say the truth, eating seems to make a grand ingredient in all 
English parties of zeal, business, or amusement. When a church 
is to be built, or an hospital endowed, the directors assemble, and, 
instead of consulting upon it, they eat upon it, by which means 
the business goes forward with success. WTien the poor are to be 
relieved, the officers appointed to dole out public charity, assemble 
and eat upon it. Nor has it ever been known that they fiUed the 
bellies of the poor, till they had previously satisfied their own. But 
in the election of magistrates, the people seem to exceed all bounds: 
the merits of a candidate are often measured by the number of his 
treats; his constituents assemble, eat upon him, and lend their 
applause, not to his integrity or sense, but to the quantities of 
his beef and brandy. 

And yet I could forgive this people their plentiful meals on this 
occasion, as it is extremely natural for every man to eat a great deal 
when he gets it for nothing; but what amazes me is, that all this good 
living no way contributes to improve their good humour. On the 
contrary, they seem to lose their temper as they lose their appetites; 
every morsel they swallow, and every glass they pour down, serves 
to increase their animosity. Many an honest man, before as harm- 
less as a tame rabbit, when loaded with a single election dinner, 
has become more dangerous than a charged culverin. Upon one 
of these occasions, I have actuaJly seen a bloody-minded man- 

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CITIZEN OF THE WORLD 

milliner sally forth at the head of a mob, determined to face a des- 
perate pastry-cook, who was general of the opposite party. 

But you must not suppose they are without a pretext for thus 
beating each other. On the contrary, no man here is so uncivilized 
as to beat his neighbour without producing very sufficient reasons. 
One candidate, for instance, treats with gin, a spirit of their own 
manufacture; another always drinks brandy, imported from abroad. 
Brandy is a wholesome liquor; gin, a liquor wholly their own. This 
then, furnishes an obvious cause of quarrel, — Whether it be most 
reasonable to get drunk with gin, or get drunk with brandy? The 
mob meet upon the debate, fight themselves sober, and then draw 
off to get drunk again, and charge for another encounter. So that 
the English may now properly be said to be engaged in war; since, 
while they are subduing their enemies abroad, they are breaking 
each other's heads at home. 

I lately made an excursion to a neighbouring village, in order to 
be a spectator of the ceremonies practised vipon this occasion. I 
left town in company with three fiddlers, nine dozen of hams, and 
a corporation poet, which were designed as reinforcements to the 
gin-drinking party. We entered the town with a very good face; 
the fiddlers, no way intimidated by the enemy, kept handling their 
arms up the principal street. By this prudent manoeuvre, they took 
peaceable possession of their head-quarters, amidst the shouts of 
multitudes, who seemed perfectly rejoiced at hearing their music, 
but, above all, at seeing their bacon. 

I must own, I could not avoid being pleased to see all ranks of 
people, on this occasion, levelled into an equality, and the poor, 
in some measure, enjoying the primitive privileges of nature. If 
there was any distinction shown, the lowest of the people seemed 
to receive it from the rich. I could perceive a cobbler with a levee 
at his door, and a haberdasher giving audience from behind his 
counter. But my reflections were soon interrupted by a mob, who 
demanded whether I was for the distillery or the brewery? As 
these were terms with which I was totally unacquainted, I chose 
at first to be silent; however, I know not what might have been the 
consequence of my reserve, had not the attention of the mob been 
called off to a skirmish between a brandy-drinker's cow and a gin- 
drinker's mastiff, which turned out, greatly to the satisfaction of 
the mob, in favour of the mastiff. 

This spectacle, which afforded high entertainment, was at last 
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ended by the appearance of one of the candidates, who came to 
harangue the mob: he made a very pathetic speech upon the late 
excessive importation of foreign drams, and the downfall of the 
distillery; I coild see some of the audience shed tears. He v.as 
accompanied in his procession by Mrs. Deputy and Mrs. Mayoress. 
Mrs. Deputy was not in the least in liquor; and as for Mrs. Mayor- 
ess, one of the spectators assured me in my ear, that — she was a 
very fine woman before she had the small-pox. 

Mixing with the crowd, I was now conducted to the hall where 
the magistrates are chosen ; but what tongue can describe this scene 
of confusion ! The whole crowd seemed equally inspired with 
anger, jealousy, politics, patriotism, and punch. I remarked one 
figure that was carried up by two men upon this occasion. I at 
first began to pity his infirmities as natural, but soon found the 
fellow so drunk that he could not stand; another made his appear- 
ance to give his vote, but though he could stand, he actually lost 
the use of his tongue, and remained silent; a third, who, though 
excessively drunk, could both stand and speak, being asked the 
candidate's name for whom he voted, could be prevailed upon to 
make no othrr answer but "Tobacco and brandy." In short, an 
election hall seems to be a theatre, w^here every passion is seen 
without disg'.ise; a school where fools may readily become worse, 
and where philosophers may gather wisdom. Adieu. 

LETTER CXVII 

To the Same 

A CITY NIGHT-PIECE 

THE clock just struck two, the expiring taper rises and sinks 
in the socket, the watchman forgets the hour in slumber, the 
laborious and the happy are at rest, and nothing wakes but medita- 
tion, guilt, revelry, and despair. The drunkard ( rce more fills 
the destroying bowl, the robber walks his midnight round, and the 
suicide lifts his guilty arm against his own sacred person. 

Let rne no longer waste the night over the page of antiquity, or 
the sallies hi contemporary genius, but pursue the solitary walk, 
where vanity, ever changing, but a few hours past walked before 
me: where she kept up the pageant, and now, like a froward child, 
seems hushed with her own importunities. 



CITIZEN OF THE WORLD 

What a gloom hangs all around! The dying lamp feebly emits a 
yellow gleam; no sound is heard but of the chiming clock, or the 
distant watch-dog. All the bustle of human pride is forgotten : an 
hour like this may well display the emptiness of human vanity. 

There will come a time, when this temporary solitude may be 
made continual, and the city itself, like its inhabitants, fade away, 
and leave a desert in its room. 

What cities, as great as this, have once triumphed in existence, 
had their victories as great, joy as just and as unbounded; and, with 
short-sighted presumption, promised themselves immortality. 
Posterity can hardly trace the situation of some: The sorrowful 
traveller wanders over the awful ruins of others; and, as he beholds, 
he learns wisdom, and feels the transience of every sublunary 
possession. 

" Here," he cries, " stood their citadel, now grown over with weeds ; 
there their senate -house, but now the haunt of every noxious reptile; 
temples and theatres stood here, now only an undistinguished heap 
of ruin. They are fallen, for luxury and avarice first made them 
feeble. The rewards of the state were conferred on amusing, and 
not on useful members of society. Their riches and opulence 
invited the invaders, who, though at first repulsed, returned again, 
conquered by perseverance, and at last swept the defendants into 
undistinguished destruction." 

How few appear in those streets which but some few hours ago 
were crowded! and those who appear, now no longer wear their 
daily mask, nor attempt to hide their lewdness or their misery. 

But who are those who make the streets their couch, and find a 
short repose from wretchedness at the doors of the opulent? These 
are strangers, wanderers, and orphans, whose circumstances are 
too humble to expect redress, and whose distresses are too great 
even for pity. Their wretchedness excites rather horror than pity. 
Some are without the covering even of rags, and others emaciated 
with disease; the world has disclaimed them; society turns its 
back upon their distress, and has given them up to nakedness and 
hunger. These poor shivering females have once seen happier 
days, and been flattered into beauty. They have been prostituted 
to the gay luxurious villain, and are now turned out to meet the 
severity of winter. Perhaps, now lying at the doors of their betray- 
ers, they sue to wretches whose hearts are insensible, or debauchees 
who may curse, but will not relieve them. 
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CITIZEN OF THE WORLD 

Why, why was I bom a man, and yet see the sufferings of wretches 
I cannot relieve! Poor houseless creatures! the world will give 
you reproaches, but will not give you relief. The slightest misfor- 
tunes of the great, the most imaginary uneasiness of the rich, are 
aggravated with all the power of eloquence, and held up to engage 
our attention and sympathetic sorrow. The poor weep unheeded, 
persecuted by every subordinate species of tyranny; and every law 
which gives others security, becomes an enemy to them. 

Why was this heart of mine formed with so much sensibility? 
or why was not my fortune adapted to its impulse ? Tenderness, 
without a capacity of relieving, only makes the man who feels it 
more wretched than the object which sues for assistance. Adieu. 



LETTER CXIX 

To the Same 

ON THE DISTRESSES OF THE POOR; EXEMPLIFIED IN THE LIFE OF A 
PRIVATE SENTINEL 

THE misfortunes of the great, my friend, are held up to engage 
our attention, are enlarged upon in tones of declamation, and 
the world is called upon to gaze at the noble sufferers: they have at 
once the comfort of admiration and pity. 

Yet, where is the magnanimity of bearing misfortunes when the 
whole world is looking on? Men, in such circumstances, can act 
bravely even from motives of vanity. He only who in the vale of 
obscurity, can brave adversity — who, without friends to encourage, 
acquaintances to pity, or even without hope to alleviate his distresses, 
can behave with tranquillity and indifference, is truly great: whether 
peasant or courtier, he deserves admiration, and should be held up 
for our imitation and respect. 

jAVhile the slightest inconveniences of the great are magnified into 
calamities; while tragedy mouths out their sufferings in all the strains 
of eloquence], the miseries of the poor are, however, entirely disre- 
garded ; though some undergo more real hardships in one day, than 
the great in their whole lives. It is indeed inconceivable what 
difficulties the meanest English sailor or soldier endures without 
murmuring or regret [; without passionately declaiming against 
Providence, or calling their fellows to be gazers on their intrepidity]. 

509 



CITIZEN OF THE WORLD 

Every day to him is a day of misery, and yet he bears his hard fate 
without repining. 

With what indignation do I hear the heroes of tragedy complain of 
misfortunes and hardships, whose greatest calamity is founded in 
arrogance and pride ! Their severest distresses are pleasures, com- 
pared to what many of the adventuring poor every day sustain with- 
out murmuring. These may eat, drink, and sleep; have slaves to 
attend them, and are sure of subsistence for life; while many of 
their fellow-creatures are obliged to wander, without a friend to 
comfort or to assist them, find enmity in every law, and are too poor 
to obtain even justice. 

I have been led into these reflections from accidentally meeting, 
some days ago, a poor fellow begging at one of the outlets of this 
town, with a wooden leg. I was curious to learn what had reduced 
him to his present situation ; and, after giving him what I thought 
proper, desired to know the history of his life and misfortunes, and 
the manner in which he was reduced to his present distress. The 
disabled soldier, for such he was, with an intrepidity truly British, 
leaning on his crutch, put himself into an attitude to comply with my 
request, and gave me his history as follows : — 

" As for misfortimes, Sir, I cannot pretend to have gone through 
more than others. Except the loss of my limb, and my being obliged 
to beg, I don't know any reason, thank Heaven, that I have to com- 
plain: there are some who have lost both legs and an eye; but, 
thank Heaven, it is not quite so bad with me. 

" My father was a labourer in the country, and died when I was 
five years old; so I was put upon the parish. As he had been a 
wandering sort of a man, the parishioners were notable to tell to what 
parish I belonged, or where I was born ; so they sent me to another 
parish, and that parish sent me to a third: till at last it was thought 
I belonged to no parish at all. At length, however, they fixed me. 
I had some disposition to be a scholar, and had actually learned my 
letters ; but the master of the workhouse put me to business as soon 
as I was able to handle a mallet. 

" Here I lived an easy kind of a life for five years. I only wrought 
ten hours in the day, and had my meat and drink provided for my 
labour. It is true, I was not suffered to stir far from the house, for 
fear I should run away: but what of that? I had the liberty of the 
whole house, and the yard before the door, and that was enough for 
me, 

510 



CITIZEN OF THE WORLD 

"I was next bound out to a farmer, where I was up both early 
and late; but I ate and drank well, and liked my business well 
enou^^h, till he died. Being then obliged to provide for myself, I 
was resolved to go and seek my fortime. Thus I lived, and went 
from town to town, working when I could get employment, and 
starving when I could get none, and might have lived so still. But 
happenirg one day to go through a field belonging to a magistrate, 
I spied a hare crossing the path just before me. I believe the devil 
put it in my head to fling my stick at it: well, what will you have 
on't ? I killed the hare, and was bringing it away in triumph, when 
the Justice himself met me: he called me a villain, and, collaring me, 
desired I would give an account of myself. I began immediately 
to give a full account of all that I knew of my breed, seed, and 
generation; but though I gave a very long account, the Justice 
said I could give no accoimt of myself; so I was indicted, and found 
guilty of being poor, and sent to Newgate in order to be trans- 
ported to the plantations. 

" People may say this and that of being in jail ; but for my part, 
I found Newgate as agreeable a place as ever I was in in all my life. 
I had my bellyful to eat and drink, and did no work; but, alas! 
this kind of life was too good to last for ever! I was taken out of 
prison, after five months, put on board of a ship, and sent off with 
two hundred more. Our passage was but indifferent, for we were 
all confined in the hold, and died very fast, for want of sweet air 
and provisions; but, for my part, I did not want meat, because I 
had a fever all the way: Providence was kind; when provisions 
grew short, it took away my desire of eating. When we came 
ashore, we were sold to the planters. I was bound for seven years, 
and as I was no scholar — for I had forgot my letters — I was 
obliged to work among the negroes; and served out my time, as in 
duty bound to do. 

"When my time was expired, I worked my passage home, and 
glad I was to see Old England again, because I loved my country. 
O, liberty! liberty! liberty! that is the property of every English- 
man, and I will die in its defence! I was afraid, however, that 
I should be indicted for a vagabond once more, so I did not 
much care to go into the country, but kept about town, and 
did little jobs when I could get them. I was very happy in this 
manner for some time; till one evening, coming home from work, 
two men knocked me do\\Ti, and then desired me to stand still. 

511 



CITIZEN OF THE WORLD 

They belonged to a press-gang: I was carried before the Justice, 
and as I could give no account of myself, (that was the thing that 
always hobbled me,) I had my choice left, whether to go on board 
a man-of-war, or list for a soldier. I chose to be a soldier; and in 
this post of a gentleman I served two campaigns, was at the battles 
in Flanders, and received but one wound through the breast, which 
is troublesome to this day. 

"When the peace came on, I was discharged; and as I could not 
work, because my wound was sometimes painful, I listed for a 
landman in the East India Company's service. I here fought the 
French in six pitched battles; and verily believe, that if I could read 
or write, our captain would have given me promotion, and made me 
a corporal. But that was not my good fortune, I soon fell sick, and 
when I became good for nothing, got leave to return home again 
with forty pounds in my pocket, which I saved in the service. This 
was at the beginning of the present war, so I hoped to be set on 
shore, and to have the pleasure of spending my money; but the 
government wanted men, and I was pressed again, before ever I 
could set foot on shore. 

"The boatswain found me, as he said, an obstinate fellow: he 
swore that I understood my business perfecdy well, but that I 
pretended sickness merely to be idle. God knows, I knew nothing 
of sea business : he beat me without considering what he was about. 
But still my forty poimds was some comfort to me under every 
beating: the money was my comfort, and the money I might have 
had to this day, but that our ship was taken by the French, and so 
I lost it all! 

" Our crew was carried into a French prison, and many of them 
died, because they were not used to live in a jail; but for my part, 
it was nothing to me, for I was seasoned. One night, however, as 
I was sleeping on a bed of boards, with a warm blanket about me, 
(for I always loved to lie well,) I was awaked by the boatswain, 
who had a dark lantern in his hand. 'Jack,' says he to me, 'will 
you knock out the French sentries' brains?' — 'I don't care,' says 
I, striving to keep myself awake, 'if I lend a hand.' — 'Then 
follow me,' says he, 'and I hope we shall do business.' So up I 
got, and tied my blanket, which was all the clothes I had, about 
my middle, and went with him to fight the Frenchmen. We had 
no arms; but one Englishman is able to beat five French at any 
time; so we went down to the door, where both the sentries were 



CITIZEN OF THE WORLD 

posted, and, rushing upon them, seized their arms in a moment, 
and knocked them down. From thence, nine of us ran together 
to the quay, and seizing the first boat we met, got out of the harbour 
and put to sea. We had not been here three days before we were 
taken up by an English privateer, who was glad of so many good 
hands; and we consented to run our chance. However, we had not 
so much luck as we expected. In three days we fell in with a French 
man-of-war, of forty guns, while we had but twenty-three ; so to it 
we went. The fight lasted for three hours, and I verily believe 
we should have taken the Frenchman, but unfortunately, we lost 
almost all our men, just as we were going to get the victory. I was 
once more in the power of the French, and I believe it would have 
gone hard with me, had I been brought back to my old jail in Brest; 
but, by good fortune, we were retaken, and carried to England once 
more. 

" I had almost forgot to tell you, that in this last engagement I 
was wounded in two places, — I lost four fingers of the left hand, 
and my leg was shot off. Had I had the good fortune to have lost 
my leg and use of my hand on board a king's ship, and not a priva- 
teer, I should have been entitled to clothing and maintenance during 
the rest of my life; but that was not my chance: one man is born 
with a silver spoon in his mouth, and another with a wooden ladle. 
However, blessed be God, I enjoy good health, and have no enemy 
in this world, that I know of, but the French and the Justice of 
Peace." 

Thus saying, he limped off, leaving my friend and me in admira- 
tion of his intrepidity and content; nor could we avoid acknowledg- 
ing, that an habitual acquaintance with misery, is the truest schooJ 
of fortitude and philosophy. Adieu. 



LETTER CXXin 

To the Same 

THE CONCLUSION 

AFTER a variety of disappointments, my wishes are at length 
fully satisfied. My son, so long expected, is arrived, at 
once, by his presence, banishing my anxiety, and opening a new 
scene of unexpected pleasure. His improvements in mind and 

5^3 



CITIZEN OF THE WORLD 

person have far surpassed even the sanguine expectations of a 
father. I left him a boy, but he is retunied a man ; pleasing in his 
person, hardened by travel, and polished by adversity. His dis- 
appointment in love, however, had infused an air of melancholy 
into his conversation, which seemed at intervals to interrupt our 
mutual satisfaction. I expected that this could find a cure only 
from time; but fortune, as if willing to load us with her favours, 
has^ in a moment, repaid every imeasiness with rapture. 

Two days after his arrival, the man in black, with his beautiful 
niece, came to congratulate us upon this pleasing occasion; but, 
guess our surprise, when my friend's lovely kinswoman was found 
to be the very captive my son had rescued from Persia, and who 
had been wrecked on the Wolga, and was carried by the Russian 
peasants to the port of Archangel. Were I to hold the pen of a 
novelist, I might be prolix in describing their feelings at so unex- 
pected an interview; but you may conceive their joy without my 
assistance: words were unable to express their transports, then 
how can words describe it? 

WTien two young persons are sincerely enamoured of each other, 
nothing can give me such pleasiu-e as seeing them married: whether 
I know the parties or not, I am happy at thus binding one link 
more in the universal chain. Nature has, in some measure, formed 
me for a matchmaker, and given me a soul to sympathize with 
every mode of human felicity. I instaittly, therefore, consulted 
the man in black, whether we might not crown their mutual wishes 
by marriage: his soul seems formed of similar materials with mine; 
he instantly gave his consent, and the next day was appointed for 
the solemnization of the nuptials. 

All the acquaintances which I had made since my arrival, were 
present at this gay solemnity. The little beau was constituted 
master of the ceremonies, and his wife, Mrs. Tibbs, conducted 
the entertainment with proper decorum. The man in black, and 
the pawnbroker's widow, were very sprightly and tender upon this 
occasion. The widow was dressed up under the direction of Mrs. 
Tibbs; and as for her lover, his face was set off by the assistance 
of a pig-tail wig, which was lent by the little beau, to fit him for 
making love with proper formality. The whole company easily 
perceived that it would be a double wedding before all was over, 
and, indeed, my friend and the widow seemed to make no secret 
of their passion ; he even called me aside, in order to know my candid 



CITIZEN OF THE WORLD 

opinion, whether I did not think him a Httle too old to be married? 
"As for my o\\ti part," continued he, "I know I am going to play 
the fool, but all my friends will praise my wisdom, and produce me 
as the very pattern of discretion to others." 

At dinner, every thing seemed to run on with good-humour, 
harmony, and satisfaction. Every creature in company thought 
themselves pretty, and every jest was laughed at. The man in 
black sat next his mistress, helped her plate, chimed her glass, and 
jogging her knees and her elbow, he whispered something arch in 
her ear, on which she patted his cheek : never was antiquated pas- 
sion so playful, so harmless, and amusing, as between this reverend 
couple. 

The second course was now called for, and, among a variety of 
other dishes, a fine turkey was placed before the widow. The 
Europeans, you know, carve as they eat; my friend, therefore, 
begged his mistress to help him to a part of the turkey. The widow, 
pleased with an opportunity of showing her skill in carving, an art 
upon which it seems she piqued herself, began to cut it up by first 
taking ofif the leg. "Madam," cries my friend, "if I might be jjer- 
mitted to advise, I would begin by cutting off the wing, and then 
the leg will come off more easily." — "Sir," replies the widow, 
"give me leave to imderstand cutting up a fowl: I always begin with 
the leg." — "Yes, Madam," replies the lover, "but if the wing be 
the most convenient manner, I would begin with the wing," — 
"Sir," interrupts the lady, "when you have fowls of your own, 
begin with the wing, if you please, but give me leave to take off the 
leg; I hope I am not to be taught at this time of day." — " IMadam," 
interrupts he, "we are never too old to be instructed." — "Old, 
Sir!" interrupts the other, "who is old. Sir? when I die of age, I 
know of some that will quake for fear: If the leg does not come off, 
take the turkey to yourself." — "Madam," replied the man in 
black, " I don't care a farthing whether the leg or the wing comes 
off; if you are for the leg first, why you shall have the argument, 
even though it be as I say." — "As for the matter of that," cries 
the widow, "I don't care a fig whether you are for the leg off or on; 
and, friend, for the future, keep your distance." — "O," replied 
the other, "that is easily done; it is only removing to the other end 
of the table; and so. Madam, your most obedient humble servant." 

Thus was this courtship of an age destroyed in one moment; 
for this dialogue effectually broke off the match between this re- 



CITIZEN OF THE WORLD 

spectable couple, that had been but just concluded. The smallest 
accidents disappoint the most important treaties. However, though 
it in some measure interrupted the general satisfaction, it no ways 
lessened the happiness of the youthful couple; and, by the young 
lady's looks, I could perceive she was not entirely displeased with 
this interruption. 

In a few hours the whole transaction seemed entirely forgotten, 
and we have all since enjoyed those satisfactions which result from 
a consciousness of making each other happy. My son and his fair 
partner are fixed here for life : the man in black has given them up 
a small estate in the country, which, added to what I was able 
to bestow, will be capable of supplying all the real, but not the 
fictitious demands of happiness. As for myself, the world being 
but one city to me, I do not much care in which of the streets I 
happen to reside: I shall, therefore, spend the remainder of my 
life in examining the manners of different countries, and have pre- 
vailed upon the man in black to be my companion. " They must 
often change," says Confucius, "who would be constant in happi- 
ness or wisdom." Adieu. 



H 26 8^ 

516 
















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